Burn
by icewolfheartsmuffins
Summary: "It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake."
1. Karma

**_Author's Note:_**

Hello my lovelies. Obviously, I'm back, with a brand new story. For those that read and reviewed on _Aizou_, I apologize about the lack of update. My life has been quite hectic as of late, and though I do have the chapters written out, twenty two, in fact, I can't find the will to publish them, mainly because I'm so embarassed at what I've written. I don't have a second reader anymore, so my own indecision is crippling me.

However, I have gotten a new muse, and a new obsession, and I'm publishing this before again, crippling indecsion strikes.

I do hope you all like it, I feel I might need to make a real story.

And yes, Fallout 3 is indeed much win. Fallout in general is win.

And there's something about the Lone Wanderer that makes it so easy to write as of late.

Also. Don't own, blah blah. Disclaimers abound.

Warnings are the same. Violence. Language. Yadda yadda.

-icewolf

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake." - Frederick Douglass_

* * *

><p><em>"Wake up! Come on, wake up!"<em>

_Bright lights. Why were lights always so bright here? Were retinas really not important to health? Seriously, get a dimmer. Oh, look, it was Amata. Wait, why was Amata in her room so early? Sitting up, swinging her legs over the bed, and shaking her head to clear out the sleep, brushing almost too long bangs out of her eyes to no avail._

_"Come on, you've got to wake up!"_

_Hands came up to rub her eyes, and she peered up at her best friend, offering a grin._

_"How weird, I was just dreaming about you, Amata."_

_"Don't be a smartmouth! This is serious!"_

_That wiped the grin off her face, and she stood up from the bed, slipping on her shoes that rested just under the bed, blinking in confusion at her friend's obvious panic. Amata almost never panicked. That just wasn't her, . "Amata-"_

_"My father's men are looking for you! They've already killed Jonas, you have to get out of here!"_

_That woke her up even more completely, rocking an icy chill down her spine, and she stiffened, eyes widening, and grabbing her friend's arm in what was probably a freakishly strong grip, fueled by fearful confusion and dread. Probably exactly what the girl opposite her was feeling._

_"__**What?**__ Jonas is __**dead?**__ What the __**hell**__ is going __**on?**__"_

_"It's your dad! He's left the Vault! My dad thinks Jonas helped him escape, so he...he had his men..."_

_Hesitation. Dread. Ominous feeling growing. "Oh...no...please..."_

_"They killed him."_

_She felt her world tilt slightly. __**Jonas**__._

_Amata sounded close to crying, standing limply, amd she realized that whatever the Overseer's men did, Amata had most likely seen. Amata, who hit a radroach wth a book once, and burst out into tears because she killed it._

_"They just beat him and beat him and wouldn't stop."_

_"Oh...my god. Are...are you okay?"_

_A stiffening breath, and Amata seemed to try and get her nerve back._

_"Y-yeah. Don't worry about me, I'm just...I'm just sorry you had to find out like this. I know Jonas was your friend."_

_Not a friend. A surrogate uncle. A second dad, when dad was too busy. But now, Jonas was dead. Jonas was __**dead**__ and Amata said her dad was gone. __**Gone. **__Another world tilt. Disbelief filled her. This...this was a sick joke. _

_"We've got to go now. My father's men will be here any minute."_

_"But my dad can't have left! The Door's sealed shut!"_

_Was that her voice? Octaves higher than normal, sounding choked? Hysterical. Amata gripped her hand, and pulled it off her arm. It was probably gonna bruise later, but right now, she...she needed...what did she need? An anchor. She needed an anchor._

_"Not anymore, apparently."_

_Thank you Miss Amata. Queen of Killing Hope with Obvious Statements._

_"But, are you honestly telling me you had no idea your dad was leaving? He really didn't tell you?"_

_Oh, yes, we tell each other everything. Hence the standing here and asking how the __**hell**__ could he be gone. She just shook her head._

_"No. No.I had no idea he was planning to leave."_

_"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sure he had his reasons. Maybe Jonas was supposed to explain everything to you?"_

_Make that Queen Amata. Mistress of Killing Hope with Obvious Statements and Sucktastic Comfort Methods._

_"But it doesn't matter! I can help you escape! I have my own plan!"_

_Oh dear god. One of Amata's plans. Okay, trust the girl that was going to help you, that you'd known all your life. Trust the girl, who's plans have had included and resulted in crawling through a vent to get to class, getting lost and ending up near the water purifier, a bucket of cake batter and paint mix that stained a good portion of the Deloria's door, the cherry bomb fragments still stuck in the ceiling of the diner, and the awful smell everyime somebody passes the accidentally chemically sealed third door on the east side of the atrium. But she spoke, and was relieved to find her voice had returned to normal, with her hysteria there, always there, but now overshadowed by curiousity, and the ever burning drive to get __**out**__, if what was going on was real. In that moment, she noticed something beyond Amata's voice. The Alert Sirens. Oh dear __**god.**_

_"Escape the Vault? How?"_

_"Listen, there's a secret tunnel that leads directly from my father's office to the exit. You'll have to hack the computer in his office to open it."_

_Oh. Great. Simple as pie, Amata. A walk in the park. Whatever a park was. Pre-war phrase. She liked it immensely. Not the plan though, computers...she was only okay with computers. Hacking could be simple, and she understood a bit, but...it was something she couldn't trust at a crucial time. But she couldn't worry, because Amata was pressing something into her hand, and she looked down at her half closed palm. Bobby pins, about ten of them._

_"You can use these to get into my father's office, that's how I always get in."_

_A quick glance up, and her lip was being bitten in nervous thought._

_"How do you know the tunnel isn't gaurded? It could be a trap..."_

_"__**We don't have time for this!**__ Trust me, security doesn't know about the tunnel. Just my father...and __**me.**__"_

_The bobby pins were tucked in her pocket, and she nodded once, blinking as Amata grabbed something else, and handed it to her. Cold, heavy, and a glance had confirmed it was ineed what she thought it was._

_"Maybe this pistol I stole from my father will make you feel better, CL.. Go ahead, and take it, and let's get out of here."_

_Amata._

_**Amata.**_

* * *

><p>"Smoothskin?"<p>

Eyes snapped open, and CL was awake, bolting upright in her bed and flailing to the side, legs caught in the sheets, her face hitting the floor, and her torso landing firmly on the large blue heeler sprawled out next to the bed she was in. Said dog grunted, thumped his ail on the floor, and twitched his feet, but otherwise didn't move. Oh. Okay, panic over. If Dogmeat was relaxed, she could be.

"Are you alright dear?"

Oh! Scrambling to untangle her legs, and a hand clamped on the bed, pulling herself up and back into veiw, blinking tired, but wary eyes. Wary, because sleeping was so hard in the wasteland without waking up every hour or so. Between the mole rats, the radscorpions, raiders, giant ants, bloatflies, and heaven help you if you were by the Potomac, because the mirelurks were absolutely vicious. So renting a bed anywhere, or sleeping in her own in Megaton, gave this sense of fragile safety. Easier to sleep, but waking up just as frazzled, coupled with confusion and initial distrust of everything around you. But eyes locked onto the ghoul, Carol, and CL smiled broadly, straightening up to smooth out the thin sheets on the bed again.

"Is it morning, Ms. Carol? Oh, wait, that's silly. Of course it is, why else would you wake me up? Well, now, I guess I better wake up, instead of talking at you, and look, I'm still talking hi how are you Ms. Carol?"

Carol smiled at the girl who had waltzed into her Place three days before with the dog hot on her heels.

In fact, all of Underworld had been buzzing about the 'Smoothskin' and her pooch, walking right into what people seemed to think was Hell itself with an overstuffed bag, a smile on her face, slightly too large leather armor, a headwrap, blood splattered, and obviously tired. Winthrop had greeted her, and she'd been _cheery_ and _sweet_, from his piont of veiw, before skipping as well as she could to Underworld Outfitters, before leaving for the Chop Shop a good hour later. Quinn had gone to check on the merchant, and found her muttering at her counter '_every last cap...every last cap' _with an odd smile on her face, and a plethora of guns, ammo, and odds and ends to give Quinn on his next Caravan trade meet. Other than that, both Nurse Graves and Willow found her pleasant enough, and despite much of the distrust, she had always been very polite and _smiling_ to everyone, even when a random ghoul had marched right up to her and asked her if was blind and had the ability to smell.

It hadn't fazed CL one bit, and Greta told Carol that the smoothskin girl just laughed, and went to go get her hair done by that stylist Snowflake, who was just enthusiastic at having hair to actually work with.

Carol personally had a soft spot for the smoothskin girl. After all, CL had said the only reason she'd even othered coming to Underworld was to find the innkeeper and give her news about Gob in Megaton, who, in CL's own words, _"How dare he not tell me his mother's so cute? What sort of friend is he?"_ And any friend of Gob? Instant check in Carol's book, expecially if that person was willing and happy to be a courier between the two.

"See ya later Ms. Carol!"

And there she went, bounding out in some old merc outfit from Tulip's shop that fit her a bit better, if still a little large for her, needing hemming, and a slight tuck in on the side. CL had been surprisingly good with a needle and thread. You had to really look to see where all the old tears had been, from patching up the best parts of similar cloth into sturdy, hardwear clothes able to survive the wasteland relatively intact. Not to mention Carl had spotted her doing the same with weapons, taking them apart, salvaging the best peices, and making a much better, trustworthy weapon from the scrap she scavanged.

Carol turned her rhuemy eyes to where CL had been sleeping, and found with amusement, that the dog was now curled around the girl's bag of things. In the last three days, experience taught that the heeler would growl at anybody that came too close to that bag, followed by teeth snapping the air. Dogmeat, that's what the girl had called him. Very smart, very loyal. A good companion in the wastes, the type of dog that would help defend the girl that looked like she'd get knocked over with the kick of any gun larger than a pistol. Sure, she had a hunting rifle in great condition propped up next to her bag, but who knows, that might just be for show, to fire off to keep Raiders away. The girl seemed a bit too perky, too young, too naive, to be hardened quite yet.

More than likely, that smoothskin was just incredibly lucky, or obliviously ignorant.

Probably both.

* * *

><p>The Ninth Circle was a place CL had not ventured into yet. Not because she was afraid, but simply because, well, CL didn't drink. She could get food and a place to sleep at Carol's, drink water anywhere, even if it was irradiated, because really, out here, practically everything had radiation, and you couldn't be picky. Purified water was rare, and yes, Wadsworth back home could give her a couple bottles, but CL took one look at the man with radiation sickness outside the gates, and there went her bottle.<p>

In any case, the only reason she was going in now? It was because she'd found a bunch of liqour in Museum's old cafeteria, dusty, but unopened, and Tulip would have bought them, only, well, she had no caps, even with the paid for repairs on things CL couldn't fix because she didn't have spare parts, or the request for ammo. She just sold more than she bought, and boy, could she _buy._ Practically swimming in caps, collecting them, stocking up ahead, and selling whatever she could wherever she could whenever she could. Caps got you food, doctors that had more than just stimpacks to heal, stimpacks for the road, and ammo.

Ammo was a must, as well as regular upkeep on all weapons.

And Nuka-Cola.

Which is totally another reason she was headed into that bar. Greta and Tulip both didn't have the drink, and while water was nice and all, CL just wanted something with caffine and tasted like, well, not water. Or booze. One shot of vodka on Gob was enough to have her spitting it out all over Jericho, and gagging. Gob and Nova and Billy had thought it was hilarious. CL and Jericho? Not so much, and she'd offered to pay off his tab as an apology. At least he'd accepted and been a bit less sour about that.

So now, here she was in a bar. Somehow, after striding through the doors, she paused, unsure of what to do next.

_Okay. What always works in unfamiliar situations? Oh! Scan the area. Right? Right._

Hazel eyes slipped slowly across the bar, the tables the people walking around. Ghoul lady and ghoul man talking at the bar. Ghoul man in a suit behind bar, probably owner. Drunkard in the corner, people in the connecting room, couldn't see all of them. Ghoul lady sipping what looked like scotch or brandy or whisky or something dark enough to look brown in the shadow of the corner and freakishly tall ghoul man with a gun holstered on his back standing in the corner. CL would have sniggered if it didn't look like the man was about to go on a slaughter happy spree at any moment, because he had a gun, and he was in the corner.

_Well somebody deserved a time out._

Yes, a snort of laughter left her, and that was enough to get her drive back in gear, a figuartive boot in the figurative ass. And literal ass planted itself on a stool, elbows on the bar, figers laced and under her chin, and a bright smile on her face at the suited ghoul who took notice of her near immedately. Well, that was nice. The only other service this fast was Gob, and that's because he had to be _one_ of her best buddies out here in the big bad world. Dogmeat was the best.

Of course, Dogmeat could also rip a leg right off a raider, and help her hunt down some mole rats for dinner. Gob just served her Nuka-Cola and told her stories and jokes and made her laugh.

Besides, Dogmeat was _fluffy._ And _cuddly_. And _liked_ to _snuggle_.

Anyway. Back to the ghoul that was staring at her, who she was smiling at, and winked.

The silver tounge was wagging now, on both ends. Did he sell and buy? Yes he did, because human or ghoul, caps were all the same to him, a little bargaining on price and he took those bottles of whiskey off her hands for five caps each, the bottle of vodka for twelve, and a Nuka-Cola was set infront of her, after another breif exchange, which took her half the bottle before she was spinning round and round on the stool, giggling madly at the horrible, sleazy man that was giving her sly jokes and compliments.

She didn't like him, but the caffine made her beyond giddy, and CL was positively affable when giddy. A radroach biting her leg would have sent her into peals of laughter and using the bug as a soccer ball.

Not that she ever had. But just saying.

"You know, for a smoothskin, you're tolerable to talk to. Which makes you so much easier on the eyes. Sometimes I think so many women turn to ghouls because they were toxic on the inside."

Hazel eyes flashed, and the barstool stopped spinning, hands on the counder, and leaning up, and forward, before CL was smiling like a fox oh so _close_ to the man's torn and ruined face.

"So what does that say 'bout you, Az-ru-khal?"

* * *

><p><em>Boredom.<em>

That's all Charon really felt now, mainly, interrupted by bouts of irritation at the drunks that stumbled out at closing time, and burning hate for his current employer. If that man did not have his contract, Charon would have already disposed of him years upon years ago.

In fact, just imagining how the disposal would go were the pleasant and relaxing thoughts that Charon used to help him go to sleep. When Azrukhal let him sleep that was. Bastard. Evil prick. Fuckwad. Shitdick. Making him stand in the shadowy corner in this cesspool of self rot. But nothing could be done, and so the routine continued.

Charon had of course heard about the smoothskin that had found her way into Underworld days before. It was a bit of a hot topic, as was Crowley's arrival nearly a year before, and every other new visitor or settler. Just the fact it was a _human_ that apparently had Willow's okay to pass through... Not that Charon really cared, he hadn't seen hide nor hoof end of the supposed visitor during that entire time. Had somebody not been slurring to their neighbor that the smoothskin was bunking at Carol's and ventured out into the Museum's offices and lower halls for hours at an end, Charon would have figured that she'd left on the day she came. Either way, there hadn't been an appearance of her _here_ so it really couldn't affect him.

Oh, how the Universe loved to screw with people's lives, because not ten minutes later, _she_ walked in like she was about to take the world on by storm and riding into such on a Deathclaw with a smile on her face. And then the pausing, the faltering, and Charon got good look at her, assessing threats, and in his head, comparing her to the rumours. After all, boredom makes you do silly things.

She was...small. Not rediculously so, but the way her clothes didn't fit _just right_, a little too baggy, even with the not so obvious work done to make sure that they did fit. Not a big deal in itself, but Charon had sort of been expecting somebody taller, or with larger curves. A woman, not a girl probably scared out of her wits and definately out of her depths.

Then again, the Universe was up for more surprises and screwing, because Charon did not expect the smoothskin kid to look right at him, back around, and _smile_ before prancing right up to the bar like it was her every right.

Apparently, Azrukhal didn't either, but while Charon just continued to scowl no matter how surprised he had been, his employer looked dumbfounded for a second, before throwing on a smile as the girl perched at the bar, and went to _assist_.

Charon was disgusted with that shitdick of an employer. He probably thought he could charm the girl into his bed, more that likely, while there was caps changing hands, and bottles of liqour drawn out from her bag, and set on the counter. Ah. That was why she was in here. And probably that bottle that was set in front of her. A cola.

What happened later was both confusing, slightly amusing, and almost panic inducing.

The girl'd been spinning around on her barstool, obviously drunk on a sugar or caffine rush, which was amusing, and dizzying to watch after a while. Even Patchwork had stumbled out after watching her, which was a relief to Charon. He didn't want to throw out the other ghoul tonight, and have the high chance of being puked on.

Azrukhal had said something that made her stop.

And she leaned over the bar. _Leaned over the bar_.

Azrukhal's orders in his head. Stop anybody from leaning over the bar. Stop anybody getting too close to Azrukhal. Which she was horribly close to the other ghoul. He would be failing his orders if he didn't act, and Charon crossed the bar quickly, clasping a leather gloved hand on her shoulder, and yanking her back into the seat. Not roughly, but purposefully.

She looked smaller up close, and under his hand, Charon was sure his grip was going to snap her bones. This girl wasn't _small_, she was _fragile_.

But his hand remained, and filmy eyes were locked on the girl who looked up at him with wide eyes, discolored by the shitty lighting in this place. Shit. She had _fantasic_ bone structure. No wonder Azrukhal was trying so hard to charm her. Bone structure to ghouls was important, it was the last remaining trait for them to judge beauty on.

"Hi?"

Charon ignored her. Instead, he looked at Azrukhal, who looked oddly furious, but was trying to hide it.

"Charon, you can let my young lady friend go."

The tone in Azrukhal's voice was clear. It was an _order_, and Charon removed his hand, stepping back, and crossing his arms, face blankly scowling. He already figured that he'd be berated for this action later, even if it had been standing orders.

Fucking Azrukhal.

A breif glace down at the girl, who he expected to see rubbing her shoulder and wincing. Instead, she was sipping her Nuka-Cola, and smiling at him.

_Smiling._

_**At him.**_

Well, Universe. Are you having a good 'Screw with Charon' day?

* * *

><p>To say CL hadn't been expecting somebody to come out of the woodwork and haul her back in her seat would have been right on the money. She hadn't. And she hadn't expected said somebody to be the ghoul from the time out corner, though now that she thought about it, it would only make sense that horrible men felt like they needed muscle. And boy, was this new ghoul nothing but <em>muscle.<em> Hell, his hand had nearly jerked her shoulder out of it's socket with the wrenching back, and the grip that remained was very...well...just strong. No doubt she would bruise.

But it wasn't hostile, just purposeful. Bouncer in a mar, though the man looked more like a mercenary.

Wheels were turning in her head. Just that morning, she'd waltzed into The Chop Shop, and apparently, some blond lady...leader of a band of merc, Reily's Rangers or something, had asked for her help in getting her crew home, simply because CL was able and willing.

Vernon Square though, according to everyone, was a deathtrap. Almost _worse_ that Old Olney. Full of Super Mutants. And boy, did CL hate Super Mutants. All large and smelly and bellowing about smelling blood and eating arms and all that. And absolutely _fucking hard_ to kill. You had to cripple them before anything, really, and run away and hope to heaven that they left you alone, or you could sneak up and kill one and then run away really fast and hope to heaven that the others were too stupid to come and find you.

There was a lot of hoping to heaven, though.

Dogmeat was great, growling softly to let her know of danger, helping her when she needed it most. CL was very lucky to have found the dog so early in her life in the wasteland, because there was nobody more reliable and helpful, she was sure.

But even Dogmeat, while much tougher than CL could hope to be, would not be enough, and so she sipped her soda oce she was let go, and smiled, a plan forming in her head. The ghoul..._Charon_...had backed off at Azrukhal's words, and she spun to talk to the business man.

"Azrukhal, you look like a man of wealth and knowledge, somebody that knows what's what."

Flattery. No matter what, a ghoul was still a person, and people had pride. People like Azrukhal? Huge pride in themselves. Judging by the way he straightened his tie, he was indeed flattered.

"Why, yes, I do believe I know 'what's what', as you so charmingly put it. What do you need to know?"

A smile was spreading on her face, a wide, cheeky grin, directed and full force on the ghoul.

"I'm heading into D.C. Have a bit of business closer to the inner city, but you see..." A wave of her hand, and a sip of her soda, before another bright smile. "...With all the Super Mutants in D.C.'s inner realm, and all that, just me on my own, I fear I wouldn't survive. I need, ah, somebody to watch my back, you know? A little extra protection, a little bit of muscle. You see, look at me?" Leaning back, gesturing to her body, and toning down her smile. "How am _I_ supposed to survive by my lonesome? Surely, you, and your worldlyness, can assist me with knowledge on where I can get help?"

The look on his face? Perfect. Maybe gesturing to her body had been a good move in this, even if it was getting her looks she wasn't comfortable with, it was enough, because Azrukhal was leaning over the bar, and talking in a voice that CL guessed was supposed to be smooth.

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact. A _look_ at you is able to confirm you might just be in need of a little extra _help_. Though, I'm sorry to say, you won't find many down here that would help you. Quinn is busy trading. Willow is our self proclaimed gatekeeper. Charon here would be perfect, but alas, he's needed with me."

Charon grit his teeth. They both knew Azrukhal didn't _need_ him around. Just wanted.

Apparently, the smoothskin saw through that as well.

"Needed? But, Azrukhal, I'm pretty sure there's not much to do down here, besides kicking people out of a bar where, please, face it Azrukhal, they'll be back five hours later, because that's how you make your money. I however, need _somebody_, and you did say _'Charon would be perfect.'_ And so, I would gladly pay for his services. What good is somebody who just watches over the bar and keeps the drunks in line, when they're scary enough to keep people from drinking here in the first place. And you wonder why Carol's does so much better? Maybe _Charon_ lurking in the corner is the reason."

The girl had a mouth on her, Charon had to admit, and eyes locked on his employer, he could see the words rocketing around in his head, jumbling, unjumbling, and working to make sense. Oh, yes, it looked like that girl had a gift of speech.

"Well. When you put it that way, Miss, I do think you have a point."

"Damn right I have a point." She was leaning on the bar again, smiling brightly. "And you know it's perfectly valid. You're a businessman, Azrukhal, and me taking _Charon_ off your hands would be a lucrative choice in the long run."

The gears were turning now in Azrukhal's head, Charon and CL could both see it.

"Suppose I take you up on your offer, Miss, what would you pay for his contract."

"Five hundred."

"No deal. He's worth _far_ more than..."

"Seven fifty."

"Now see here, Smooth-..."

"One thousand."

Pause. A thousand caps for Charon's contract.

"Make it two thousand."

It was CL's turn to laugh, and lean forward again.

"No deal. Two thousand caps? Rediculous. One thousand, and think of all the caps you'll make once he's out of what's left of your hair, sweets. I'm offering one thousand, flat, right here. You can take it, or you can go back to wondering what could have been."

She was reaching into her bag, and pulling out something. Charon reached for his shotgun warily, but paused at the leather drawstring pouch she plopped on the counter, and pushed to Azrukhal, as if tempting him. "Go ahead, Azrukhal. Say no to all this wealth sitting right infront of you."

The girl could definately barter, Charon was sure. And somewhere in his head, he was hoping that Azrukhal would take it, because his finger was twitching for that trigger on his gun, so close to blowing off the man's head.

"You have yourself a deal."

The bag of caps was pushed towards him, and Azrukhal went to the safe in the wall, pulling out a yellowed, laminated sheet of paper, and held it in the air to the girl, which she snagged, and peered at.

Charon was thrilled when the girl spun on the stool to face him, holding up the contract like it was the cure for radiation.

"Woohoo! Guess what! I'mma _boss_, yeah, baby!"

Charon felt a sense of calm dtermination sweep through him. From Master to Mistress, and he spoke to her for the first time.

"That is good news. Please wait while I take care of something."

CL blinked, but nodded, slipping off her stool to head to the door, hearing voices behind her, but jumping and whirling around at the blast of a shotgun, face spattered with blood as Charon shot the headless form of his former employer a second time, before turning and headed towards her, despite the screams of '_He shot Azrukhal!'_ Oh, no, that wasn't a shooting. That was an execution, and she looked up at him.

"_What the __**fuck was that?**_"

"Azrukhal was an evil bastard. So long as he held my contract, I was honor bound to do as he commanded."

Oh. CL wiped some blood off her face, and stared at it on her hand, before looking back at the very...very _large_ man infront of her.

"But now you are my employer, which freed me to rid the world of that disgusting rat."

Well, note to self. Be a good girl or Charon was coming to get you.

"And now, for good or ill, I serve you."


	2. Luck

**_ Author's Note_**

Meep.

One chapter gets a me onto a story alert list, and a review.

It wasn't _that _good, was it?

Either way, my personal thanks to both tennispanda and Teufelszeug, who's name I cannot even try to pronounce out loud.

Another thing.

Charon, as a character, is both very simple, and very difficult to write.

In the game, he does not say much. he had little personality beyond his battle cries, and his constant paranoia warnings. This makes him easy enough to write, as he can have almost any sort of personality.

This also makes him difficult, because to give him a personality and still make the character reconizable as _Charon_, certified BadAss, is a tricky tricky thing. Personally, I have been trying to see how certain fanon characterizations work, to see what mixes and and molds him into a _person_, instead of a _plot device. _

Difficult.

_Anyway._ I do hope this chaper is enjoyable.

-icewolf

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_Personality is born out of pain. It is the fire shut up in the flint." - J. B. Yeats_

* * *

><p>"So. You're not very talkative, are you, Charon?"<p>

The ghoul blinked once, before tilting his head slightly at the girl treading before him in the metro tunnel. It was dark, light from the metro tunnel walls few in between, and not very illuminating. Charon couldn't even count how many times his new Mistress had tripped over debris, her own feet, or that dog that had the habit of circling around, and pressing against both of their legs, feeling teeth on the heel of his boot. It was annoying, slightly, but at least the dog had the good sense to warn them of danger, even if danger so far had been nothing more than a few swarms of radroaches.

"If you wish me to speak, Mistress, I will."

CL rolled her eyes, even though Charon couldn't see them for more than one reason. One, it was dark. Two. She sure as hell wasn't going to turn around to face him for the action of rolling her eyes. That was just silly.

"CL. _CL._ Not _mistress._ We've been over this, Charon. I gave you my name so you can use it. _Derp_."

They had been over this. Several times, in fact, but Charon, in CL's view, either had hardcore habits, or was trying to see how far her temper went.

To Charon? It was a bit of both. Testing the waters unintentionally, because of hardwired habits.

"I apologize Mistress."

Apparently that strangled, choking noise was her vent of frustration.

"Do you still wish for me to speak to you?"

CL didn't answer for a second, because she caught sight of a door up ahead, and flicking her gaze to Dogmeat, who was happily panting, decided to shoulder her bag and head to it, pushing the lever that unlatched it, and peering inside. Oh, an old maintenance room. Perfect. Maybe there were things she could scrounge. Ammo, or old guns to fix up, or scrap metal for Winthrop, or something. She actually skipped into the room, set her back down, and started to dig around. Dogmeat sat in the corner, and Charon...well Charon just stood in the doorway, keeping an eye both in and out of the room.

After all, that was his job.

"I wish for a lot of things."

She was still digging in a box, and Charon glanced at her. Out of the Museum, into bright, natural, and not shitty, orange red light that made everything darker than it was, he'd gotten a truly good look at her. In the washed out lights in this metro, he could still study her well.

"I wish for _a lot_ of things. It doesn't mean I can make them all come true, you know. Even if I wished you'd talk, I couldn't actually make you do so if you didn't want to."

CL had poked her head out of the box, and was staring at him now.

Back in Underworld, her eyes could have been any shade of any color, and would still look practically brown or black. In Underworld, where even a platinum blonde head could look brown, her hair was dark. Skin was discolored from the lights, and looked reddish, almost.

"You are well within contractual obligations to order me to speak if you wish, Mistress. I would have no choice but to comply."

CL groaned, and lifted her hands to grip her hair, cropped short, jagged, choppy, and ending somewhere between her cheekbones and her chin, depending on where the layers ended. Unfortunately, she'd learned the hard way that having long hair in the wasteland was a luxury she didn't have time for. Pulled into a ponytail and hacked off with a combat knife. Up until Snowflake pointed out that he could fix it for her, she'd been quite disgruntled. The change, well, it just served a reminder when she woke up that this _wasn't _a bad dream.

To Charon, her hair reminded him of a radscorpion's shell, black and gleaming, but not, simply because there were no other colors in her hair. It was black through and through, in any light.

"You know, what? Let me clarify. I _don't want to order you_ to carry a conversation with me. I do, however, like, wish you'd speak up once in a while, you know?"

"If you wish Mistress-..."

"And for the love of all that is holy and pure in the world, _please_ do not call me Mistress. It's just...weird. It's like I'm above you or something, and well...totally not a nice feeling."

"You are my employer. You are indeed above me."

A finger was wagging at him now, her other hand on her hip, and CL was shaking her head, a smile tugging the corner of her lips, eyes flashing in the awful lighting..

"Out here, in the wastes, Charon... we're equals, or it's practically the opposite. You know more than me, you have more experience. Which means, _Cha-ron_, you have every _right_ to do things like call me by my name, or tell me what you think, or to even call me a dumbass if I do something stupid. I _want_ you to, even. "

Charon blinked once, jaw tightening. Did she have any idea what she was asking, and indirectly ordering from him?

Apparently, judging by the way she went back to scrounging, the answer was no.

Great. Orders he had no idea how to interpret, let alone take.

_Fan-fucking-tastic._

* * *

><p>"This place is not safe. Be cautious."<p>

_Thanks Charon. You could have told me that before I stepped on a bear trap!_

CL just grunted. It wasn't attractive, that sound she made, but damn if her leg wasn't being a bitch about pain. Stimpack healing was awesome to watch, and ridiculously amazing in an emergency, but painkiller it not be. And CL sold whatever Buffout and Med-X she ever came upon, as well as any other chems. No need to risk addiction, on top of risking life, limb, and sanity. No need to get hooked on anything worse than Nuka-Cola.

"Yeah, okay."

Oh dear, did she sound bitter. Well, if he was limping, he would be bitter too. As it was, he was walking ahead of her, scouting for more traps, and disarming them. Dogmeat was trailing behind her like always, so her eyes were locked on the freaking giant in front of her, clearing the way.

Charon, well, he hadn't enjoyed seeing his empl-no. She'd said he was her equal. Inferred he was actually her superior. To Charon, he wasn't sure what that entailed. The girl had insisted he speak what he felt, to correct her. Indirect orders, but orders all the same, as well as refraining from calling her 'Mistress'. But what else was he supposed to do, or say?

Either way, he'd been very angry when the snap had been heard, the crack, and then the stifled scream.

Angry with her, for not looking where she was going, even after a murmur of caution.

Angry at himself, because he'd been caught up trying to figure out what exactly his indirect orders prescribed what duties to him to notice the trap.

And angry at whoever had set it, though, judging by the paint on the walls, and the shouts up ahead, Charon would be able to exact his anger on the people it was easiest to. The bastards who set the trap. Shotgun readied, a glance back at his employer, and Charon took off, a snarling dog on his heels, who too had sensed the threat.

"Hey! Wait!"

He didn't even turn back. Didn't even answer.

Duty: Eliminate threats to employer's safety before they reach employer.

And Charon disappeared around a corner, Dogmeat tearing ahead of the ghoul.

CL swore, and followed them both.

* * *

><p>"<em>I see you!"<em>

Bullets flurried past him, some hitting the old wrecked metro car that Charon was taking cover behind as the assault rifle went off.

Raiders. Fucking raiders. Sure, they left their mark with all the paint, and the bodies, oh, and yeah, the traps before the station crossing, but the fact remained.

_Fucking Raiders._

Charon would be lying if he said that he had expected more than one group. Charon would be lying if he said that everything was fine. Charon was not a liar. He had not expected the three separate groups of raiders emerging from one of the tunnels, and another from the crossing station overhead that only seemed to appear when the first batch of three were taken care of.

Then again. Maybe he should have expected it. Since when do raiders only have three people in an outpost like this?

The years in Azrukhal's service might have left Charon's skills with a slight bit of rust.

A snarl, a bark, a scream, and the bullets stopped firing at him. The Dog had decided to help him out, and was proving far more valuable than Charon would have initially believed from the way the smoothskin treated the canine.

Charon whirled away from his cover, shotgun reloaded. There was this human, and two more above, who had been taking shots every once in a while. Hunting rifles.

Too bad they couldn't aim for shit.

He could.

A motion, the dog backing away from where it had torn a ragged chunk of flesh from the woman's leg, blood splashing on the ground, down skin, staining the heeler's fur, and the raider woman reloaded to fire again, screaming unintelligibly.

Charon pulled the trigger, running forward. The first blast had the woman's good thigh almost ripped in half, and she fell to her knees screaming even louder, turning only to have the barrel of Charon's shotgun pressed against her head.

Trigger pulled, and the raider's head exploded in gore, blood and brain matter mixing, splattering on the floor, an eye landing with a wet plop on the ghoul's boot, rolling off only to be popped underfoot by an uncaring step, and the woman's body collapsed, the bottom half of her jaw the only part still attached to her neck. Charon didn't even pay a mind to the corpse, even if Dogmeat sniffed it once. It was just that. A corpse.

There were no shortages of them anywhere here.

As for the others. They hadn't shot for a bit, and Charon squinted filmy eyes at the upper station. Maybe they had brains and fled.

A crack of a rifle, and pain exploding in his shoulder told him, no. They had not. Well fuck. A stifled yell of pain, and Charon started to dart for cover, making himself harder to aim at while still heading for the stairs.

Well, broken down escalator, but come on now, without power, they really are just _stairs_.

Another crack, a whizz by his ear, and then Charon stopped dead at the next sound. Well sounds.

First was an explosion, which he could see. A small one, no doubt the product of a frag grenade. _Shit_. One of them had _grenades_.

The second?

_"Fuck with __**me**__ you bitches!"_

And the third was a second explosion, and a couple more cracks of a rifle.

Charon ran full speed up the stairs.

_Stupid girl!_

* * *

><p>CL was indeed a lucky, lucky girl. That was not in question. She also had excellent perception, only augmented by Dr. Lesko's 'Ant Sight' genome.<p>

And she could be very sneaky.

So while she'd arrived a bit too late to help with the gunfight, which was in full fire by the time she arrived, with Charon and Dogmeat coming out the victors, there were things she noticed. Like the ammo boxes. The first aid boxes. The three grenades she could add to her count and bring it up to sixteen. And the two raiders on the upper metro station, firing at Charon and Dogmeat.

CL saw red.

Not blistering, blinding red, no. Charging foolishly into a firefight was a bad, bad idea. A very...rosy red. The kind of red that had her thinking to remain unseen, and sneak up behind those bastards while they were preoccupied. Which is just what she did, a grenade in hand, finger slipped through the ring on the pin, and her hand firmly clamped on the lever, ready to get up _close_ and slip the grenade under those assholes feet.

Sadly, plans never go the way you expect them.

She saw the reloading, the careful aiming. Heard two blasts that sounded like the came from Charon's shotgun. Heard silence. And then the crack. The sound of a person being hit. And her finger slipped the pin out, and she stood, tossing the grenade the ten feet between them. Six seconds. One in the air.

One raider was reloading his weapon when the grenade bounce against his foot, (two), looked up, then back down, (three) nudging his buddy who looked down (four), looked back up, and turning to her (five).

They both dove away at the sixth second, the explosion both blinding and near deafening, and she had another grenade out and in the air.

_"Fuck with __**me**__ you bitches!"_

No, plans never go the way you expect them, but this might possibly be better, because the second grenade landed, and CL was running for cover before the raiders could react fast enough to figure out what was happening and shoot at her. Another explosion, a scream of pain, and the grenade lobbing was switched out in favor for her own rifle, slung across her back. Behind the ticket station counter, propping her gun on the edge for better aim, and she fired twice.

CL was a lucky, lucky girl, because one round blasted through the chest of the man whose side she'd practically blown off with the second grenade. The second through the raider's neck. To be fair, she'd been aiming for his chest as well. A little high, but it got the job done, right? CL blinked, before standing, and crawling out of the booth's window as Charon made his way up the stairs, Dogmeat ahead of him and bouncing on her, enthusiastically licking at her face, her neck, her hands, and CL was petting and ruffling his fur just as happily, wide smile on her face.

"Dogmeat! Good boy! Good good boy!"

_"Mistress."_

CL blinked and looked up, the dog still licking her cheek, squirming happily under her petting.

Charon did not look happy, and she flinched slightly, her smile fading somewhat when spotting his shoulder, and she was up on her feet instantly, large eyes wide and moving towards him.

"Holy shit! You need help? I have a Stimpack, and oh, I have this water, it's irradiated, radiation heals ghouls, right? Oh, oh, let me see! Hold on, don't bleed to death please Charon."

She was digging in her bag now, speaking a mile a minute, until a large hand gripped her arm and pulled it up. CL squeaked, and looked up at well, only to cower back at the look on the ghoul's face. Which was close. And boy, was the size difference _painfully_ being made aware. Charon's hand easily encircled her upper arm, and the grip was strong. She would not be able to break it.

"What _were_ you _thinking?"_

CL flinched again, and swallowed. Her voice was frozen. Stuck. Mouth was opening, closing dumbly. What_ had_ she been thinking?

Nothing.

She hadn't had a thought at all.

_Oh._

"I'm...I'm sorry?"

* * *

><p>Charon had to really reign in his temper.<p>

But this girl had been so ridiculously_ retarded. _Charging into danger like that, without thinking as it was _obvious she hadn't been doing_. If she'd gone and gotten herself killed, his contract...his contract would be worthless, because he would have failed in the primary duty stated. To protect and serve that which holds the contract.

That contract was Charon's _honor_, practically. He was supposed to preform every duty without fail.

And in less than ten minutes, she had almost ripped up his reputability, his word, his honor, and tossed it into the wind.

Figuratively. If she'd done that to his contract in actuality, he might have killed her.

But now here he was, trying to calm himself down, grasping onto her arm, and a second away from pulling her off her feet, while she was staring at him with those almost too large eyes. She was nervous and frightened of him right now.

Dammit. She was supposed to know that she was _safe_ with him, not be shitstruck terrified.

Though she might be more compliant if she was.

But no. All she could say was '_I'm Sorry.' _ That wasn't going to cut it. Between his contractual obligations and her _orders_ to speak his mind and tell her if she had done something stupid, as well as her saying it was his _right_ to do so, he was ready to give her a definite verbal slap.

After all, you'd never find Charon disobeying orders. Interpreting them, maybe.

But never _disobeying._

"You're sorry. Did it even cross your mind, _Mistress,_ that there may have been more traps? That these men were more heavily armed than they appeared? That there may have been _further_ re-enforcements? You went _blindly_ into danger, because it's very _clear_ you were not thinking a fucking thing."

She'd shrunk back, and Charon heard the dog starting to growl at him. He paid it no mind, but released his grip on her arm.

"But...you were shot..."

Charon just stared at her, and the girl's words died off with a pathetic squeak.

"You are my employer, and as such, I do as you command. But understand, Mistress, that it is also my _duty to protect you_, and I cannot do my duty if you bolt headfirst into dangerous situations. Is that clear?"

CL nodded once, blinking and stepping back, tripping over one of the prone bodies and landing on her ass while the body twitched, and let out a rasp. Her eyes widened more, Dogmeat barked, and Charon reacted instinctively.

"HOLY SHIT HE'S AL-!"

Well, not anymore. There was a combat knife now embedded in his neck. Nobody dodges Charon. Be it his gun, his knife, or his questions.

"Is that _clear, Mistress?_"

Oh. Yes. CL nodded rapidly, and the hand was back around her arm, hauling her to her feet.

"Then we are in an understanding. Now, Mistress, if I may ask. Where is our destination?"

CL blinked, before looking down, and poking her fingers together, then glancing back up at the ghoul with a bright smile that so far he'd only seen her give to Azrukhal before she talked the dead ghoul out of Charon's contract. Somehow, Charon figured that with that smile, nothing good would ever come to the person on the receiving end.

"Vernon Square?"

_God fuck it all!_

This girl was going to be the death of him.

* * *

><p><strong><em>"Hold on Jonas, I need to record this first."<em>**

_Dad._

_Daddy._

_Her heart beat a bit faster, and she was turning up the volume on her Pip-Boy, despite it echoing in her newly gained housein Megaton,and hearing it several times before. CL leaned forward in her chair, staring at the blinking green screen that was showing how long the downloaded holodisk was running._

**_"I... I don't really know how to tell you this. I hope you'll understand, but I know you might be angry."_**

_No, really?_

_Teeth clenched, and CL closed her eyes, pressing her palms to them until she could see stars explode behind her lids. Of course she would be angry, you knew this all to well._

**_"I thought about it for a long time, but in the end I decided it was best for you not to know. So many things could have gone wrong and there's really no telling how the overseer will react when he finds out."_**

_"He'll act crazy. You couldn't even have said a small clue? Left a better note? They killed **Jonas**, daddy, they killed him, and that's how I found this note. You know daddy, it was in his hand? I took your note from a dead man's hand. Are you proud, dad? Is this what you wanted?"_

_She was talking to the holodisk recording. She always talked to the holodisk recording._

**_"It's best if he can blame everything on me."_**

_"He didn't. He blamed you, and Jonas, and me and even Amata."_

**_"Obviously you already know that I'm gone. It was something I needed to do. You're an adult now. You're ready to be on your own."_**

_"Says who? I never said I was ready for you to leave me, daddy. I never said I was ready."_

**_"Maybe someday things will change and we can see each other again. I can't tell you why I left or where I'm going. I don't want you to follow me. God knows life in the vault isn't perfect, but at least you'll be safe. Just knowing that will be enough to keep me going."_**

_"Going where, dad? They kicked me out. I had to leave. They tried to kill me, daddy."_

_Hands were rubbing her face, before she looked up at the Pip-Boy on the desk, large hazel eyes streaming. She could never hold her tears back._

_CL was lost all alone in this big bad world, and the only person she'd ever depended on to keep her safe had walked off into the dusty, radioactive horizon. How could he even say these things? Her dad was brilliant. Her dad knew everything. Her dad could not be so hopelessly blindly optimistic that he could leave and everything would be just fucking peachy._

_A shuffle of sound in the back, and she let out a choked sound at the voice that broke through._

**_"Don't mean to rush you, Doc, but I'd feel better if we got this over with."_**

_"Jonas, I'm so, so sorry."_

_Her fathers voice was back._

**_"Okay. Go ahead. Goodbye. I love you, Chen Lijuan."_**

_Chen Lijuan Morrison, CL to everybody else, burst out into uncontrollable sobs._

_"I love you too daddy."_


	3. Perception

**_Author's Note:_**

I am very pleased and proud to say I have a Beta Reader that has been a fantastic help so far, reviewing my previous chapters and leeting me know what could have been improved, and being very patient with me in helping edit this chapter for your enjoyment, readers.

General-Jingwei deserves cupcakes, because I can't make edible cookies.

I also do not know if there is going to be any sort of regular update schedule. I will try and get out every chapter of this story as fast as I am able, with the best quality I am able.

I only want the best from me for my readers.

Please enjoy.

-icewolf

* * *

><p><em>"The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire." - Marshal Ferdinand Foch<em>

* * *

><p><em>She pouted, and tugged on a lock of hair that had slipped over her shoulder, eyes on her dad,<em>_who was trying not to smirk, even with his hand tapping the side of his face in the ever familiar 'pondering' pose._

_"Well, as far as I can tell, you're a perfectly healthy sixteen year old girl. So yes, you have to go to class to take your G.O.A.T. exam."_

_Well, phooey. She bit her lip and pressed her index fingers together, looking at her feet, then up at her dad again, widening her eyes just slightly, a faintly pleading look. _

_Sixteen, and she only reached five two, weighed around one oh five, and, much to her embarrassment, had been told that she was still a late bloomer as far as puberty went. Maybe she shouldn't have tried to lie to her dad, who was a doctor, that she was too sick for her exam today. _

_He'd run an entire physical checkup, teenage daughter or not._

_"Go on now, you have a G.O.A.T. to take."_

_She contemplated insisting she was really sick, but somehow, that didn't seem like the best course of action._

_"If you say so, dad."_

_She winced when she said it. Okay, the accusatory __resentment__was totally not supposed to be in her voice. But it was evident, as much as the passive defensiveness in her dad's voice._

_"Hey, it's not my call. Those are the rules. You're sixteen now, so this year you take the G.O.A.T."_

_The rules sucked then. She looked down again, and sighed._

_"Come on, it's not so bad. Everybody has to take it. You'll do just fine."_

_Okay. Going out on a limb here. Looking up at him, hazel eyes widening slightly again._

_"But I'm sick, really!"_

_"No, you're not. Really."_

_Well, that worked out as well as planned. She looked back down at her feet, hand tugging that lock of hair again._

_"When I started studying medicine, one of the first things I learned was how to spot a kid playing sick to get out of taking a test."_

_Okay, now who was the liar, daddy?_

_"You'll do fine. Everybody has to take it when they turn sixteen. I had to, you have to, and so does everybody else."_

_But taking a test that determines practically the rest of your life was __**stupid**__ and nerve-wracking! One wrong answer and you are a trash burner. One wrong answer and you are a plumber. One wrong answer and you could have been a teacher, but now you're a hairdresser! Dang it, it was just so silly! _

_"And most everybody makes it through without a scratch."_

_Because it was paper and pencil. Would that incident with the stapler never leave her behind? You staple your thumb __**once**__._

_But okay._

_Another sigh._

_"Okay. Bye, daddy."_

_"Take care, sweetheart. Now get out of here, and good luck."_

_She nodded, and turned around, about to open the door from her father's office, but it was already opening, and CL stared at Jonas, who smiled at her. _

_"Good morning. Stopped in to see the old man before class, eh?"_

_A smile, and she skirted past him, out of the office, and into the hall, cheeks flaming, only to see and hear a commotion before the class. She blinked, before stopping, and staring._

_Butch DeLoria, Wally Mack, and Paul Hannon Jr. were bugging Amata._

_"Get away from me, you stupid Tunnel Snakes."_

_She frowned, and went over to help her best friend._

_"God, can't you just leave me alone, Butch?"_

_"What's the matter, daddy's girl gonna cry?"_

_She pushed past Paul, who, despite being a good six inches taller, and who knows how much heavier, was always a bit of a pushover. Butch caught sight of her then, and sneered, foot rested on the wall, running a hand through his__slicked back hair._

_"Hey look, it's smart mouth. Sorry I ain't got time for your fancy words right now. So beat it."_

_Like she would ever do that._

_"What's going on here?"_

_"None of your __**business**__ kid. So get outta here before you get __**hurt**__. If you mess with the Tunnel Snakes, you're asking for it. Got me?"_

_You're an idiot, DeLoria._

_"If you keep messing with her, you'll answer to me."_

_You're an idiot, CL._

_"And who are you? Her girlfriend? Ha! You keep talking like that, girl, and we'll send you back to daddy with a few broken bones for him to fix."_

_Her fist clenched slightly, and she shot a glance to Amata, who looked as stumped as she was. Butch was a jerk, there wasn't any doubt about that, but he wouldn't really hurt somebody, would he? He never had before._

_"If you keep messing with her, the Overseer is going to come down on you."_

_She narrowed her eyes at the look on his face then. Scrunched up, jaw clenched, temple vein twitching._

_She knew then that he really hadn't thought about that._

_Stupid Butch._

_**Stupid Butch.**_

* * *

><p>"Let it b-b-be known, for all that is idiotic in the w-world, the blame hereby r-r-resides, from now until the end of the world's li-life, because the end of the wor-world was what, like, two hundred some o-odd years ago? Ahem! <em>HENCEFORTH<em>, all bl-bl-blame for acts of stu-stupidity reside with Sir Butch DeLoria, for all-..."

"Mistress, this is not the time."

CL winced and gripped the edge of the examination table, biting her lip harshly as fingers probed her shoulder, tender around the bullet wound there. One of many, in fact, and her body was trembling, because she knew what was coming next. The fingers were withdrawn, and then the sound of a bottle uncapped.

"Oh, l-let me h-have my fun, would you?"

There was no answer from the ghoul. No doubt he was still furious at her. She was furious at herself. Here was fury all abound and resonating here, in this tiny little examination room at Our Lady of Hope, your local, irradiated, mutant filled blood covered hellhole.

The next sensation had her screaming, fingers gripping and ripping into the torn and ruined padding of the table. Dogmeat was snarling and growling as usual, but CL gasped out a couple '_Stay_'s and _'No_'s, and the heeler was firmly in the corner, not launching himself at the ghoul who had dug a pair of vodka drenched forceps into her flesh to drag out the lodged bullet.

At least she stayed conscious this time. The one dug out of her leg had her passed out for who knows how long, only to wake up at the one that had been pulled out of her arm. She'd been babbling ever since, stuttering in her pain, and her refusal to take Med-X or even some Buffout to help had Charon gritting his teeth.

Stubborn girl. It wasn't like they hadn't collected every bit of aid there was in here.

Well, at least all the threats were eliminated, otherwise her screaming would have called every Super Mutant and Centaur down on their heads.

Forceps pulled out, and her screams died abruptly, though the whimpers and whining did not, and Charon dropped them on the surgical tray, along with the third and last bullet, grabbing a Stimpack to apply to the wound. It would be completely fine in a few minutes.

"S-s-s-s-so, all-..."

"_Mistress._"

She shut up with a squeak, and waited for her flesh to mend from the Stimpack.

And yes. Charon was beyond furious.

It was like she'd blissfully forgotten the lecture down in the metro the night before, with the raiders. No, she'd blasted it out of her head with those grenades she'd been carrying, more than likely. Never before had he had an employer so stubborn to throw themselves into danger on a constant basis.

And if he had one, they'd probably died before he'd really bothered to remember them.

CL had only said their destination was Vernon Square. No reason why. No reason _why_ that they had traipsed headfirst into an area populated by some of the toughest creatures besides Deathclaws and Yao Guais to roam around the Capital Wasteland.

So after the first few had been killed, well, Charon had another 'word' with his employer. And nearly pulled out what remained of his hair. They were there for a rescue mission.

For a merc leader that she'd met in Underworld.

Charon didn't know if she was _stupid_ or _brave_, but let it be known his employer had been absolutely stubborn on the fact they'd continue forward.

_'They need our help! You may not like it and I may not like what we have to do, but I __**promised**__ I'd help, and god fuck it, that's what we're gonna do, got it?'_

Yes. Very stubborn.

Deep down, Charon was relieved he found an employer with some sort of moral standing.

Still, that hadn't stopped his temper from flaring when they actually made way into the old Hospital, and she'd gone headfirst to blast the Mutants in the building's front lobby. And once again, Charon was stumped at the girl's sheer luck to not get shot in the head, or anywhere else in those moments, even with one of those ugly mother fuckers wielding a minigun, of all things.

Not too stumped to enter the fray, though. And rack up most of the kills.

All in all, most of the clearing out had gone _well_. The girl had actually booted up an old Mr. Gutsy, which had been a tremendous help until it was reduced to nothing but a scrap heap by a sledgehammer, on the last stand of what they thought was the last enemy.

The three cracks of a rifle afterwards had corrected that notion.

Three cracks, a scream, snarling, yelling, roaring, blasts from a shotgun and blood. So much blood. And the screaming.

Charon had been furious then as well.

Now here, tossing the empty vodka bottle to the side, watching her take shuddering breaths, and her hand coming out to pat the dog on the head.

Her hand was still covered in her own blood.

Though, Charon had to be fair, a lot of his anger was at himself. In the halls, she'd stayed behind him. Mostly to pull out whatever medical supplies they might need later, and her thinking ahead, leaving the clearing mostly up to him, he'd had been fine with.

But one missed room. One single missed room, and he'd nearly failed to protect his mistress. That damn _dog_ had gotten there before Charon did, leaping and ripping at the mutant's arm, knocking the gun away.

"I'm sorry."

Charon blinked away the play by play in his head, before scowling at CL, who was blinking those eyes at him. Why was she sorry? It was him who had been at fault. He was contracted for combat services and protection. He had not come through on the protection.

"Mistress, you are not at fault. It is my duty to protect you from all perceived threats and I overlooke-..."

"Oh**,** shut the hell up."

Charon's mouth snapped shut. Not from the words, because CL had the terrible habit of not meaning everything she said word for word. It drove him mad, having to choose other things to interpret orders from. Since the metro, more specifically the 'Say What You Think Order', she hadn't given a single straightforward directive.

And right now, it was her tone.

CL was sitting up now, still in pain, but able to move, not shaking, and no longer stuttering with her words, and keeping those hazel eyes on him.

"Would you please shut the hell up with that 'duty' shit? Man, it wasn't your fault. Hell, it wasn't anybody's fault except that ugly ass's that's lying in a pool of his own blood out in the hall so rancid the radroaches won't touch that shit. And he's dead. So like, he paid for shooting me, right? You and Dogmeat sure showed him!"

She was smiling at him now, and Charon felt his scowl fade slightly. If anything, this girl was earnest.

"And kinda my fault too, 'cause like, I didn't hear the big galumphing fuckhead."

And idiotic. Brave. Suicidal. Lucky. Idealistic.

It made him wonder where the hell she grew up. Under a rock? Even with what the wasteland had thrown at her, she was still smiling, as if she wasn't coated in blood in a destroyed hospital in anirradiated shitfucked world.

It made him also wonder if she was stupid, but then again, he had enough proof for the contrary of _that_ particular fact.

Add ignorant to the list.

Her mouth was opening again, probably to spew more things that were supposed to make him feel better, but failed.

Nothing ever came, because that computer thing on her arm, the one she called a 'Pip-Boy', burst out into static, and then words, and static again.

_**"...stuck on top of the Statesman...anyone can..."**_

Charon looked at his mistress's face, having been staring at the arm computer as the broken signal made its way through.

Her eyes were hard, her mouth set in a grim line. It was a look he hadn't seen from her before, and he watched her slip off the table, and grab her bag.

"Let's not keep them waiting, Charon."

A nod.

"Yes Mistress."

* * *

><p>"The name's Butcher. I'm the team medic. It's good to see a...friendly face."<p>

CL blinked and rubbed her eyes. Holy fuck, she was so fucking tired. What? Five, six floors of Super Mutants and their pets to fight through? She was about ready to _drop_ right there. And she wasn't the only one. Dogmeat was lying down, whining, and Charon was a little less rigid in his posture.

Imagine that. Warrior Gun God Charon, _tired._

She would have laughed, only she was too exhausted. Systematically murdering every mutant they came across was one thing. The traps were another. Reilly did warn her, but CL still nearly had her leg blown off by a landmine, only tripping and falling back _down_ the steps had saved her from an impromptu amputation.

"Okay, now who the heck are you, and when are reinforcements coming?"

What, expecting a cavalry? CL blinked, stifled the urge to yawn and lay down, and glanced back over her shoulder at Charon, who was on her left, and a foot behind her, and then at Dogmeat, laying on her right, fur brushing her leg. CL looked back up at the man, and offered a wry grin.

"I'm afraid this is it."

CL still kept that grin on her face, despite the disbelieving looks that the medic had passed around her little trio. She could only imagine the sight they made.

Her, barely breaking the five foot three marker. Her, not even able to fill out her clothes (which were coated in blood from various beings, including herself). Her, with a fresh bruise coloring her cheek under grime and blood streaks and soot, blood clotted hair hanging limply around her face.

Dogmeat, whose fur was practically a dirty red now, ears torn at the tips and bleeding, panting and growling and lying at her feet.

And Charon, who not only was a ghoul, but a ghoul in leather armor just as dirty as the rest of them, a combat shotgun slung across his back, assault rifle under one arm, practically towering over her even when he was standing where he was, scowling and glaring at the medic.

Dream team, huh?

"Hmm, and you made it all the way up here alive?"

_Nope. Sorry, we're ghosts to haunt you, asshole._

"Okay, I'm impressed. Reilly must have sent the right person for the job, as usual."

Hence being here.

"Hey, is she okay?"

CL's smile grew a bit, and she nodded.

"Yeah, she's fine. They patched her up, and she's resting in Underworld."

"That's a relief. I told her she was nuts when she decided to try and sneak out of here. Guess I was wrong. Now, let's talk about getting out of here."

Charon snorted. CL shot him a glance over her shoulder. Even if you know, it was an obvious thing, not a need to be rude. Charon met her gaze coolly, before staring back at the medic, and she followed suit.

So. Exhausted. All CL really wanted to do was curl up nice and clean and sleep for a day.

"I would have proposed going back the way you came, but apparently that's impossible now."

Wait, why was that impossible? She and Charon and Dogmeat had killed every opposition up here, why couldn't they take the same route down? Something wasn't clicking right in her mind, but CL couldn't figure out what it was at the moment.

"So the Express Elevator is our only solution."

Not the _only one._

Charon averted his eyes from the dark skinned man talking to his Mistress.

In all fairness, Charon might admit that she was not exactly the person he'd expected, some headstrong kid ready to take on the world.

She was that, definitely. And charging into battle with that wide, gung ho smile on her face, despite being injured, or creeping up stairs to disarm any traps ahead of him since that first lucky miss with a landmine had both of them cautious, he'd been surprised at how _large_ she'd been, barreling through any opposition with the single minded intensity of a predator, and as energetic as a child.

It made Charon wonder for a second if she actually needed him around, or if she'd just purchased his contract on a kid's whim.

But looking at her _now_, covered in blood, grime, and looking pale under both? She looked exhausted, drawn, grinning, yes, but like she was about to pass out on the ground right there.

She looked small and fragile again, that _largeness_ sucked out of her as soon as the other man had started talking.

Charon didn't like it. That excessiveness had been a staple in this mission so far, and to see it gone so quickly was like pulling a rug out from under his feet. Jarring, unpleasant. As much as he hated that attitude from her, it suited her better than _this_. A hand reached out from his side, and planted itself firmly on her shoulder. He wasn't one for comfort. Never had been. But she was still a kid, probably no older than sixteen, and she needed to remember that as over her head as she was, Charon was indeed there to assist, for good or ill.

Come to think of it, he didn't know anything about his new employer beyond the fact her name was CL. And that wasn't exactly a _name_, not for anybody really. Who names their child '_CL'_?

CL blinked, before turning a tired smile on her ghoul companion, who had removed his hand after a second. The action wasn't missed by Butcher, though he wasn't one to pry. It wasn't his business, it wasn't his business. What was, was to get Reilly's crew out of this place alive.

CL turned her gaze from the ghoul to the man, and then over at the elevator.

"It doesn't look like the elevator works anymore."

"You're right."

Well _no shit._

"What we need is something to power the elevator motor up here and get the thing going."

CL didn't like where this was going. She had a terrible feeling about this, resonating in her tired, sore, and dirty body. Large hazel eyes narrowed at Butcher, and her mouth went dry.

"On the way up here, I'm pretty sure we passed a maintenance room. Inside was a wrecked Protectron. If you can get me it's fission battery, I can have Donovan jury-rig the elevator."

Fuck. Fuck _fuck fuck fuck._ Of _course_. CL blinked, before sighing. She never collected fission batteries because they were so cumbersome, and picked up weight rapidly. And they _needed one._

Figures.

"Okay. I'll go back and look for a fission battery."

"All right, we'll hold the roof position here."

Well no shit. Where else were you gonna go, Butcher?

"If any of us goes down, don't stop. Get the hell out of here and make for our H.Q. Ranger Compound."

Good to know. If any of you give up the ghost, go back to Reilly and tell her that no, the crew was not back alive as promised. That sure was comforting. Better work on the bedside manner.

* * *

><p>"I'm gonna kill him. Murder. Rend. Fucking...fucking...I need another synonym for kill, Charon. Got one?"<p>

"Slaughter. Execute. Slay."

"I'm looking for one that starts with 'E'. Execute's a good one. Not good enough though."

"Eradicate."

"Not quite."

CL bit her lip, pushing her back against the wall, soles of her leather boots planted firmly on the old broken Protectron's head, and pushing against it for all she was worth, grunting a bit. Goddamn robot was _stuck_ between the wall, and a couple of metal storage shelving units, which, of course, had decided to be nearly unmovable. CL had to crawl through the shelving and pushing it back while Charon pulled.

Which is what they were doing now, so she could reach the compartment for the battery.

"There's a word I know...it starts with 'E'...ahhhggg, fuck..."

"That is an 'F' word, Mistress."

The squeak of leather, and the Protectron slammed onto her legs, pinning them slightly. It wasn't particularly painful, just mildly shocking. Not nearly as much as what had just come from Charon, who was scowling again at the smile spreading on her face. The smile he'd dubbed her 'Trouble Smile'.

"Why _Charon_, I do believe you just told a _joke._"

A grunt was her response, and the ghoul leaned over to help haul the robot off her legs.

"And the word I was looking for was extirpate."

* * *

><p>"You look like you've been through hell."<p>

CL had to restrain herself from launching at the woman to claw her eyes out. Oh, oh what, what she did wasn't hell?As if the Statesman wasn't enough, _nooo_, getting through the sewers and metros that were still filled with mutants, emerging onto a street right in the middle of a battle between Talon and the big ugly brutes, skirting around them, nearly blown to hell by a crazy preacher, and getting lost was on top of that particular little cake.

And she was still dirty and blood covered and wanted a shower. And sleep. CL was seriously about to pass out where she was, running on the last hour on adrenaline only. If she didn't look like she'd been through hell, than she was a fucking _goddess_.

And as far as CL knew, she wasn't any sort of divinity.

"Yeah. That was a tough run."

Apparently, any sort of sarcasm was too much effort. CL just sounded like all the wind was out of her lungs.

"I bet it was. Frankly, I'm amazed you made it."

Charon twitched then.

"Can you give me a full debriefing on what happened out there with my men?"

Charon twitched again. Didn't this woman have _eyes? _Now was simply not the time to be asking these things, not now, when his mistress was about to fall over at their feet.

"It went extremely well, as you can see. We didn't lose anyone."

How could she still want to deal with this woman?

"I'm very impressed at your skill. I don't think I've come across someone quite like you in the ruins."

Neither had he. Charon blinked filmy eyes at CL, who he knew was smiling, even if he was standing behind her. She really looked like shit.

Not that he was one to talk, but still. She looked like _shit_.

"I suppose I owe you a debt, and intend to pay it in kind."

He scowled at the strawberry blonde woman. Damn right this 'Reilly' was going to pay his mistress back after all the trouble she went through. Otherwise, Charon might let his temper go and shoot the woman that had commissioned this entire suicidal quest.

"I'm sure you're more interested in your reward than listening to me talk, so let me get right to it."

"Yeah...please? I have...ah...much to do."

Charon cringed internally, and Reilly actually seemed to lean forward to hear the girl, who sounded like she was punched in the stomach. She seemed small again, and he hated it.

"Okay, but at least let me thank you for all you've done. You could have been killed trying to save my men."

No shit.

"So, for your reward, what'll it be? The Ranger Battlearmor or one of Brick's Miniguns?"

As if she was barely bigger than a minigun. Was that a serious question? CL looked back at him though, and Charon had the faint feeling that he was being asked without words. He just stared at her, before tugging a part of his leather armor with his fingertips. There was another look between them, and a smile was directed his way before she turned back to Reilly. Not the 'Trouble Smile', but something softer. Grateful, and when she spoke, she seemed to have a bit more conviction than before.

"I'll go for the armor."

"The armor it is! Wear it with pride, kid. We do. And consider this place your home away from home. If you're ever in the neighborhood again, you're more than welcome to take shelter here."

CL seemed to brighten considerably, even in the sparse light.

"Well, I guess that does it. See you 'round, kid."

The woman turned to walk away.

"Wait, Reilly?"

The woman turned back, and raised an eyebrow.

"Can you show me where the showers are?"


	4. Medicine

**_Author's Note:_**

Hello lovelies.

I do hope you all enjoy this chapter. The line breaks frustrate me to no end, as I can insert them during my final check of a peice, and then a live preview won't show them at all. I don't know whether to continue using broken breaks or to switch to something that is more reliable and easier to see.

Also. My Beta is a goof, but very sweet. I owe him alot.

And brownies are delicious.

-icewolf

* * *

><p><em>"Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice." - Robert Frost<em>

* * *

><p><em>It smelled like smoke to her.<em>

_Smoke, sweat, liquor, and a sickly sweet smell that CL had long identified with dried vomit not quite cleaned up right._

_She supposed that was what a bar was like. It could be worse. She could still be in her Vault suit, the bright yellow numbers on the back practically painting her a target for anybody trying to hustle her out of caps. Or her virginity. Or both. _

_She hadn't been in Megaton long, arriving the night before, meeting the town sheriff Lucas Simms, and in a fit of an overwhelming need to help, had disarmed the atomic bomb two hours from walking in the gate._

_It was a bomb. You were allowed to take your time._

_So now she'd followed Lucas's directions to Moriarty's to speak to the Irishman after receiving a house as partial payment, with his advice in her head. _

_Moriarty was not her friend, Moriarty was __**not**__ her friend._

_Now, if only she knew what Moriarty looked like, so she could know who wasn't her friend._

_It would also help if the bar wasn't packed busy, with settlers crowding and jeering and drinking, other people that looked more...weathered, with guns holstered, like Lucas. Probably guards. She accidentally bumped into one, a lightly bearded man with an eye patch and head wrap, who flashed a large smile and made sure she didn't fall over, hands on her shoulder. CL returned the smile, and blushed. _

_"I'm so sorry. It's way crowded, right."_

_"Well, let me help a lovely lady through the crowd, then maybe buy her a cola."_

_CL was pretty sure her face was scarlet by this point, as the man kept a large hand on her shoulder, leading her through the crowd. Calls of 'Hey, Billy' punctuated the bustling atmosphere, and CL was relieved. _

_This guy was too nice not to like, if he had been Moriarty, she would have been sad._

_At the bar, Billy let go of her shoulder, and slipped his hand in his pocket, pulling out a few caps and handing them to her with a wink. Or a blink, since he only had one visible eye. But he was grinning, and she was grinning back, so yes, CL was positive it may have possibly been a wink._

_"Here, buy a cola on me. I gotta get back to Maggie."_

_She didn't even have time to ask who Maggie was before the man turned and disappeared in the crowd, leaving her alone at the bar next to a guy drinking whiskey from the bottle and the wall. Well, he did tell her to buy a cola, and CL sat on the stool, and set her caps down carefully, before looking up at the bartender, eyes widening slightly. He was unlike __**anything**__ she'd seen before, a scene from a nightmare standing in front of her, wiping down the counter and passing drinks to people who paid for them. And CL noticed he didn't seem very...nightmarish, despite the looks and the gravelly voice._

_He seemed sad._

_He noticed her though, and she was staring into foggy eyes._

_"Hey, smoothskin. Do you need something? A drink, maybe? Anything? Anything at all?"_

_CL smiled._

_"Let me think about it, my good man."_

_He seemed shocked._

_"Wait...you're not going to hit me? Yell at me? Not even berate me a little bit?"_

_Her smile widened, and she leaned forward on the bar, long hair slipping past her shoulders to pool on the counter like spilled ink._

_"I hadn't planned on it."_

_"Well now. That's a surprise! I'm used to every asshole smoothskin in this town giving me shit just because I look like a corpse. I'm glad to see there are a few worthwhile people around here."_

_Why would they do that? CL blinked in confusion. That was stupid and mean. Why would somebody tease another person because of the way they looked? Didn't their mothers teach them better? She didn't even __**have**__ a mother and she was taught better._

_"Listen, Moriarty'd have my head if he caught me selling at a discount, but for __**you**__, I'll risk it."_

_Her hand reached across the bar. _

_"I go by the name of CL. You?"_

_"Gob."_

_She smiled brightly as he took her hand tentatively and shook it. Her hand was tiny in his, and she stared at him. She didn't expect his hand to be so warm._

_"We're gonna be great friends, Gobbers. You can bet on it, no matter what, you feel me?"_

* * *

><p>She had to keep running.<p>

That was all CL could do. Run.

Run and pray to God that Charon or Dogmeat could find their way down or around that steep embankment before she ended up Mirelurk chow.

This was not an appealing notion. Not in the slightest.

She actually felt like she had back then, her first night out on the wastes by herself.

Back then, she'd spent the night trying not to fall asleep, huddled in a tiny rock, clutching the old pistol with less than twenty bullets. Back then, when the first greeting she had into the bright world had been uncomfortable heat, blinding light, and a group of raiders passing by on the road below the Vault's entrance. CL remembered waving, gunshots, running, hiding.

So much hiding.

From both the raiders, and then the _things_. The _things_ that growled, the snuffled, grunted, scratched, and screeched outside her hidey hole.

But that was _then._ This was _now._

And now was much worse. Now, she didn't have any weapon. Now, she was very sure what _thing_ was chasing her, what it could do to her if it caught her, which was looking more and more likely. Mirelurks were much faster than they looked.

So all she could do was haul ass.

Normally, CL was very lucky.

Not today.

Today was a clusterfuck. Still tired from the venture to save the Rangers, the trek through downtown D.C., and then the route back, resting between the Potomac and the last stretch to Megaton, playing with her dog, who'd gotten overexcited and knocked her off balance. Charon had been a moment too slow in reaching for her arm to haul her to her feet.

CL had tumbled of the side of the rise which had a sheer face for a good twelve feet before leveling into hard ground, and ending in the water.

She'd had figured if anything was going to attack them head on while the group rested, it would have to come from the side that was actually accessible.

It was also her first fucked up jolt into the waking world again. Feeling all the air come out from her lungs at the initial landing, feeling something _inside_ her hurt so suddenly, making it hard to breathe. Seeing the ghoul's face at a blurring distance twist into something that was probably anger, before disappearing. Rolling down the land and sucking in water almost suddenly. Dragging herself out with gasps, coughing up water. Coughing up blood with the water. And then hearing the _chittering_. The splashes. The clicks of claws.

CL didn't think she could run anymore. She didn't even know how long she _had_ been running.

Her eyes refused to make out anything clearly for more than a minute, and she was sure her balance was shot, because it seemed there was no straight line. A hand pressed on her side to try and make some of the hurt go away, but CL couldn't even feel her hand unless she pressed hard, and then it was too hard, and she couldn't breathe.

And she couldn't run anymore, which the world decided to throw in her face via a rock that caught her foot, sending her sprawling on the ground, insides actually sounding like they cracked. CL could hear it over her gasping, because she couldn't even suck up enough air to scream in pain or fear or both, and even gasping, something hot came bubbling over her lip, in her mouth, back down her throat.

In that moment, CL was sure she was going to die.

She was going to die, alone, spread on the ground for some Mirelurk like a fresh platter. Alone, despite having a very loyal pet and a Bodyguard from Hell.

Alone, without finding out why her dad abandoned her.

She fell into darkness then, unheeding of the shadow above her, the barks, and the gunshots.

* * *

><p>Charon could not <em>believe<em> this.

One girl could not ride into battle with an undetermined amount of Super Mutants as the opponents to rescue mercenaries she had not prior contact with, dragging a dog and a ghoul as her cavalry.

One girl could not have the freakish luck to survive the mini war with little more than pale scars left from the Stimpacks.

And that one girl with the freakish luck to survive a full on _battle_ that more hardened individuals had perished from could not have possibly be done in by falling off a cliff as small as this one.

The universe wasn't that fucked up, was it?

Charon couldn't even believe what he had witnessed. Mistress playing with dog. Dog rearing up, planting paws on mistress. Mistress off balance, teetering. His arm going out to grab her, haul her back to steady land.

His hand missing by millimeters, grasping the sleeve of her shirt before it slipped from his grip.

Her already large eyes widening, as she fell. Him leaning over to watch her land, to watch her roll into the water, to see the Mirelurk on the other side spot the splash, and then her, crawling out of the water after an agonizingly long amount of time. Charon moved then, the dog already ahead of him, finding a way down and back around, and grabbing the girls bag.

She didn't have a weapon, and she didn't have aid.

Charon swore.

He swore again when the rocks offered little in the way of any sort of path, any shortcut through them, taking more time from the window where his mistress had the chance of being alive.

A third time when he caught sight of the Mirelurk, too far ahead to really engage it. A fourth when he spotted the form in front of the mutated crab, laid out like a piece of pie.

He had no doubts that it was his mistress, even at this distance.

Charon would recognize that hair anywhere, at any time.

The bag dropped to the ground, the dog was already sprinting ahead, and Charon reached, not for his shotgun, or the assault rifle that had been so meticulously repaired for him by his mistress, but the newest present she'd given him, salvaged from an old military truck they'd passed. A.44 Magnum with a scope. A powerful handgun, and at this distance, power would be useful. Ammo was limited, but firing off round after round, getting the crab's attention away from the prone form of the girl, it didn't matter. Charon didn't even bother with the scope.

All that mattered was that if CL was still alive, he had to protect her at any cost.

All six bullets, gone suddenly. The gun made a clicking sound and the ghoul tossed it to the side with a silent snarl. The Mirelurk was close now, charging with a limp from where one bullet had been lucky enough to pierce the armor. The dog was charging low as well, andCharon could see the canine's teeth lock on the uninjured leg, tossing the crab off balance for a split second.

It was enough time for Charon to aim and fire his shotgun point blank at the face of the creature that dared attack _his_ mistress.

The face exploded into grey green goop that was equated with blood. Three more shots and the Mirelurk collapsed. Another was just for spite before Charon kicked the corpse the dog continued to bite at, and running over to the girl, keeping enough of his head to grab some aid while he did so.

She was facedown, unmoving, and Charon believed for a moment that he had been too late for the second time in a row.

That he'd failed his objective.

It was a sinking, black hole of a feeling, sucking all the fight and anger from him, and Charon almost missed the flexing of her fingers in the dirt. _Almost_. But the movement was caught, and the black hole was banished almost instantly.

Employer was still alive. _Protect and serve._

Leather gloved hands reached for the girl, carefully gripping and turning her over on her back, mindful of more than likely the amount of fractures she had. He expected broken bones.

He didn't expect to see blood coming from the corners of her mouth.

This was beyond his expertise. Charon could set bones. He could apply Stimpacks. He could _not_, however, figure out what was so wrong that she had blood coming from her mouth.

It was probably a bad idea to move her. It was probably a bad idea to pick her up, an arm under her legs, the other cradling her torso. It was probably a bad idea to call for the dog and schlepp across the wastes to Megaton with a hurt, broken girl in his arms, leaving himself almost practically defenseless, with his gun across his back, and the bag on his shoulder.

It didn't matter. Bad idea or not, Megaton was close. His mistress needed his assistance.

Charon would always oblige.

* * *

><p><em>Pain.<em>

All CL knew was that everywhere hurt. Pain flooded her system, and even breathing was taking a toll on her. She didn't remember why everything hurt so much. She didn't remember what she was doing. All she knew was that it was a pain to try and open her eyes, hurt pulsed through her system, she was cold, and her fingers were brushing something warm and soft and there was a weight on her legs that really didn't help with the pain there, and voices.

Eyes opened to dim light after an extreme amount of effort, focusing on the ceiling of the dwelling she was in, the pounding in her head increasing a bit. Too much, eyes closed again, and she found it preferable.

And the voices were becoming clearer

There was one that was vaguely familiar. Two, actually, and a third that she knew very well, considering.

_Charon._

Charon was there. So everything would be fine, right?

Right.

It was comforting to slip back into the waiting blackness.

* * *

><p>Charon glowered at the dark skinned man that introduced himself as Lucas Simms, Sheriff.<p>

Not for any particular reason, but simply because Charon was in too much of a shitty mood to have to deal with the questions and prejudice at the moment. Arms crossed, standing next to of the clinic's back room door, and just all around being as unpleasant as when he stormed into the gates, and made his way down the path to the shitshack with a gurney out front.

The doctor was an asshole, had been Charon's first thought, going out front to say that if people weren't dying, don't bother him. Only when the doctor laid eyes on the ghoul a full foot taller than him and the tiny, broken girl in his arms, well, the man became a _doctor_, telling Charon where to set her, and then telling him with no reservations to '_Get the fuck out of my way.'_

But sometime between when Charon had barged into the city to when CL had been set in the recovery room in the back, somebody had gone running off to the righteous prick in front of him and said god knows what bullshit.

Okay, so maybe that wasn't fair to the man that apparently had taken it upon himself to play law upholder in a land where law was lawless.

Charon was just in a bad mood. Eyes tracked the dog as it slipped past him to jump on the bed with the girl, lying across her legs with his head under her hand. Lucky dog.

Not to be lying in bed with his mistress, but just to get away from this fuckoff, which was also a smaller man than him, and looked decidedly uncomfortable at the venomous look he was getting.

"Listen, we have some conce-..."

"No. Talk to Mistress."

Simms blinked once, adjusting his hat with an incredulous look on his face. Charon grit his teeth slightly, arms tensing in their crossed position, standing stock straight and infallible.

"I just want to ge-..."

"_**No.**__ Talk. To. Mistress."_

Simms looked irritated now, and Charon's glower intensified. This man was idiotic.

"Look, we need to -..."

"Do not make me say it again."

Charon's voice had deepened to a growl. Well, more of a growl than normal. And that was saying quite a bit. Simms didn't falter though, but narrowed his eyes up at the ghoul, asking very slowly, as if to confirm an answer he was already figuring out.

"Who's this 'Mistress'?"

He didn't bother speaking, instead lifting a hand to jerk his thumb at the bed in the room. The man looked past him, frowned, before turning to leave the clinic. About time.

Charon just didn't want to deal with that man.

* * *

><p>Three days had passed before CL woke up for more than a few minutes at a time.<p>

In those three days, Lucas Simms had popped in and out to 'check up', twice a day.

In those three days, Charon had only moved from his self-given post at a little after dawn and dusk, both times to use the bathroom, which he was distastefully made to tromp across the entire town, since Church didn't allow anybody but patients and himself to use his.

In those three days, Charon only ate at night, slept from three am to dawn, took care of the dog, and, when it was quiet, took his shotgun apart to clean and modify it slightly with the spare parts his mistress had packed away in the bag.

Considering she never fired a shotgun, either she was planning to sell them, or like all of the guns and parts she had come across so far, she was repairing or modifying.

She had a definite talent for it.

After those three days, watching Church head back into the room he'd been guarding, before looking straight ahead again. Three days. Nothing had changed. No signs of true consciousness, no response to any noise. Charon was feeling that black hole warp into his stomach, but stayed as calm as he could, given the circumstances. So he was fairly calm.

As always, the doctor left the room after twenty or so minutes.

As always, the doctor updated her condition to the silent ghoul, if reluctantly.

Charon expected him to say '_Stable'_, as always.

Not today.

"She's awake. And askin' for you, rotter."

* * *

><p>CL was in a hazy state between pain and tolerability.<p>

To be fair, she hadn't woken that way. She'd woken in a state of pain that was familiar, yet different, feeling fingers prod at her sides.

And despite the pain, it tickled. And she laughed. Or gasped.

More a gasp than a laugh, but it was enough to get the attention of the owner of the hands, who growled at her.

"Keep twitchin', and I'm never gonna see if your ribs are mended up right."

CL opened her eyes then, a small, thin smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

_Doc Church._

So she was in Megaton. All CL really remembered clearly was falling, and pain. Nothing else, which meant that somebody had hauled her to Megaton to be healed.

Charon, most likely.

It also let her know that her injuries had been enough to require an actual doctor. CL's body ached again, and when the doctor moved away, she moved to sit up. It was a bit more effort that she wanted, and hurt was resonating in her bones, but that still didn't fade the small smile that was on her face.

"How long have I been out, Doc?"

"Three days. Been in and out of it, girl. And that rotter and fucking mutt are crampin' my clinic. You ain't the only patient, and if you can walk two feet without fallin' on your face, I'll send you on home to heal up there."

She raised to fingers to her forehead. Yes, Church wasn't the nicest around, and could be harsh, like now, but he was a good enough doctor, and she understood. He didn't have enough space, didn't have enough supplies.

"Sure. I'll like, be out as soon as I can."

"You best be."

CL smiled a bit wider at the gruff tone. He meant well, of course he did. One didn't become a doctor if one didn't mean well.

Which reminded her.

"Doc, is Charon out front? Of course he is, you said so yourself. Anyway, when you leave could you like, get him in here, please? Thanks so much."

A bottle of clear water was pressed into her hand.

"Drink. You need your fluids, you sound like shit, and once that bottle's gone, I want you gone as well. You got your food up in your place."

"Yes sir."

Church turned and left the room, and CL opened the bottle as the door opened again, and Dogmeat slipped in, jumping on the bed and lying across her legs, and she laughed, painfully, before sipping the water.

"Mistress."

Her head turned, hazel eyes locking on the ghoul standing in the doorway. As always, he stood stock still, arms crossed, and an unreadable look on his face.

CL was just happy to see him, and smiled.

* * *

><p>She was smiling at him again. A new smile, one he hadn't seen directed at him yet.<p>

Charon frowned slightly, and tried to decipher her expression.

Eyes weren't widened, smile wasn't large, no infernal gleam in her eyes that preceded a headache and anger on his end.

She looked...simply relieved, perhaps, that he was around. That he hadn't left or something. Charon almost snorted. Like he would leave. She still held his contract.

And Charon would never admit it out loud, but she was possibly his favorite employer by far.

Despite being stubborn, ignorant, naive, alarmingly aggressively friendly, and half the time giving the ghoul the urge to rip the rest of his hair out and tie her to a rock so she didn't go prancing into a Yao Gaui's cave (like _he knew she was planning on doing _ever since meeting that scavenger with the tame one).

It was something that if Charon tried to explain, he'd end up shooting something out of frustration.

"Charon?"

Attention refocused, and Charon nodded at his mistress, who sipped her water, and grinned.

"Get me get the hell outta here, before Doc kills me for taking up too much space."

He frowned.

"I would not allow that, Mistress."

A hand was flapped at him, and she laughed once, rubbing her ribs, before snapping her fingers at the dog, and pointing to the ground. The canine whined, before getting off her legs and jumping off the bed, and his mistress turned to sit on the edge of the bed, bare feet on the floor. Charon frowned, before moving forward, setting a hand on her back and one on her arm, assisting her to her feet.

CL smiled up at him again.

"Oh, I know. Figure of speech, you know? Now, let's go home."

Charon nodded once as her tiny hand gripped him lightly, and blinked at the feel of skin on his uncovered arm.

It was shocking, to say in the least. Yes, his Mistress liked to 'touch', he had gotten used to her tapping, grabbing, poking.

Never had it been on his skin. Filmy eyes glanced down as she bent to slip on her boots, using him for leverage, studying the difference between them.

Where his skin was leathery, with a reddish tone that contrasted most ghouls, stripped away in places to expose red, corded muscle that flexed every time he moved. Charon was strong, there was no doubt. He could probably pick up a grown man and throw him a good half dozen feet.

Her skin was soft, which made sense, as her palms were always protected by some sort of fingerless gloves, and had an ivory tone that no amount of sun really changed. She was small, finely and fantastically boned. She was easily breakable as well.

Something as fragile as she was deserved to be locked in a safe, kept far underground.

The second best thing would be for him to stay by her side.

"As you wish, Mistress."


	5. Endurance

**_Author's Note:_**

I'm very sorry this chapter is about a thousand words short.

I accidentally sliced my fingertip open at work, and I kept overthinking and deleting parts of the chapter.

ChiyukiLuvs2Glomp, you deserve my gratitude for adding me to your Watch List. I'm humbled you find my story that appealing to you.

GJ, my dashing, daring Beta, you deserve more cupcakes. And a perfect score on the bar.

I do hope you all enjoy.

-icewolf

* * *

><p><em>"Hell is empty, and all the devils are here." - William Shakespeare<em>

* * *

><p>Charon objected to <em>this<em> with every fiber of his being.

_This_ was him standing in the corner of a bar. _This_ was watching his mistress sit at the bar, spinning on a stool, sipping her Nuka-Cola and laughing as drunks milled about. _This _was him crossing his arms and scowling in the shadows.

_This_ was a serious feeling of unwanted deja vu.

Charon did not want to be here. He did not want his mistress to be here, not even a day after she'd been given leave from the clinic.

But she was here, and where she went, he would follow. Even into this putrid, smoke filled hellhole.

But that didn't mean he had to be happy about it. In fact, if his mistress had still not been wincing every other move, he would have thrown her over his shoulder and taken her back to her home. But she was still in pain, and so all Charon did was grit his teeth, and watch.

Watch as she leaned over the bar to hug the ghoul on the other side, and hand him a letter. Watch as a man with an eye patch took her soda, and held it out of her reach for a few moments as she laughed and pitifully attempted to get it back. Watch as the woman that he recognized as a whore come down from the stairs, and place a kiss on her cheek. Watch as his mistress turned seven different shades of red, choking on her reclaimed cola, and nearly falling off her stool.

She did say he didn't have to be here, that she was among friends.

That may be true, watching her interact with the others. But the last time she left his sight, she'd nearly died. Charon was not one to take such risks, not with her welfare on the line. If he had to be in the self-appointed corner of a bar, gathering a dirty look or two from patrons that passed close by to make sure his mistress was safe, then so be it.

So he watched. Watched as another man joined the small gathering, a Chinese assault rifle on his back, obviously drunk, pawing at the whore before she left with another patron.

Watched this man take the stool on the other side of his mistress and snarl at the ghoul bartender. Watch his mistress turn to the man, her expression absolutely mortified, her mouth open as if to say something, only to get the man's hand tangled in her hair.

Charon didn't need to watch anything that happened next. He acted.

Five strides he was out of his corner, and at the bar. Hand clamped on the bastard's wrist, twisting, making sure this fucking cocksucker let go of _his mistress_ before shoving him to the ground, reaching back for his shotgun, and shoving the barrel in the drunkard's face.

* * *

><p>CL didn't know how things had suddenly stopped.<p>

They _hadn't_, really, it just felt that way.

Things had been going just fine. Out of the clinic, ready to go see Gob and Nova and Billy at Moriarty's after talking to Lucas about Charon. Because, boy, after that conversation, she'd been about ready to throw a wrench at somebody's head.

Besides, Carol had a letter for Gob, and CL had promised she'd give it to him.

Never mind the fact Charon had voiced his objections, never mind that despite her essentially giving him the night off to do what he wanted, he had followed her to the bar, and stood in a corner. She already knew it was useless to argue with him, and gave up any notion of trying.

Instead, she'd took a seat next to Billy, leaned over the bar to hug Gob and hand him his letter and started her first cola of the night. And things had gone well. Even with her body still hurting when she was reaching for her stolen soda. Even when Nova came down to join them, smelling musky and kissing her cheek, murmuring things that made her blush.

These were her friends. Even so, CL was still aware that Charon was watching her.

Things slowed down when Jericho had entered the scene. He smelled of alcohol, it was like he bathed in it. Her nose wrinkled, and she sipped her soda, not hearing the exchange between the ex-raider and the whore.

What she did hear was not nice.

"You fucking _zombie slave_, gimme' your fucking _whiskey_."

CL blinked, before turning to Jericho, looking absolutely offended. He had _not_ just called Gob a zombie slave. That was just mean.

Jericho caught her eye, and sneered at her, hand reaching out and grasping her short hair in a tight grip before she could open her mouth.

"Well, well, if it ain't the goodie two shoes."

Billy said something behind her, but CL didn't catch it. The hand in her hair was pulling, and her eyes watered.

It. Hurt.

The looming figure above her, the silence of the bar didn't even register until the hand was gone from her head, and CL was greeted with the sight of Charon looking like he would blow off Jericho's face in about half a second. When had Jericho even fallen to the ground?

Oh, oh _shit._ Of course. Of _fucking course_.

Her hands rose, and settled on Charon's back warily. She could feel him tense and twitch under her touch, and the overwhelming _stillness_ was very...choking. All eyes were on _this._

"Charon, Charon he's drunk. He didn't mean it. Let him up, please?"

* * *

><p>Why was she frightened?<p>

Charon couldn't figure out why his mistress sounded so fucking scared and meek when he was coming to her defense like he was supposed to. Couldn't figure out why she was asking for this fucker to be let up instead of having his head blown off. Eyes narrowed, staring the man down the length of his shotgun.

Was this man not just hurting her?

"Please, Charon?"

Of course he could feel those hands on his back, gripping his shirt, and tugging slightly. Of course he knew that there were others around, watching. That shouldn't make a difference. And yet.

Charon cursed silently, before putting his weapon away.

Oh, he was not happy. Not in the least, and this was made very clear to the man now getting up off the floor.

"Fucking _shuffler_-..."

Charon's fist met the ex-raider's nose, and blood exploded into the air as Jericho was knocked back off his feet, slamming into the floor for the second time.

It wasn't quite what Charon was after, but it soothed his temper somewhat. Head turned, and filmy eyes locked onto her face, hand grasping her arm firmly.

"Mistress, we are going now."

All she did was nod.

* * *

><p>"What on <em>earth<em> were you fuckin' thinkin', Charon!"

He should have known this was coming. That wide eyed, passive nature could not last for long. And well, in retrospect, he _might_ have overreacted.

Just a _little._

That didn't mean Charon regretted his actions, oh no. As far as he was concerned, he acted appropriately. Minus the gun in the face.

Again. _Slight_ overreaction.

But his mistress obvious needed to get this out of her system, so he simply crossed his arms and watched as she paced around the Pre-War style chairs in her living room, having kicked the tricycle out of the way just to give her more space.

"I mean, Jericho is a jerk, right, but man, you don't have to scare the piss outta me that you might splatter his brains on the floor! What were you thinkin'? You weren't, I bet, _oh hell no_, you weren't, because if you _were_, you'd fuckin' like, know if you _did_ shoot the bastard, Lucas would be all up on your ass, and then I'd be in trouble, because you'd be all 'Talk to CL' and some shit like that and _god fuck it Charon!_ Stop _starin' at me like that!"_

He blinked, watching her bristle as she alternated between yelling and seething. She was back to pacing, her hands in her hair, gripping, pulling. She only did that when she was highly agitated.

"Mistress-..."

She whirled on him again, and Charon had the urge to step back as she stalked forward, her finger finding his chest and poking him. Quite silly, considering she wasn't big enough to really do any sort of damage to him, at least not anything that would invoke the violence clause, at any rate.

"Don't you fuckin' 'Mistress' me, _Cha-ron!_ You about _**fucked us over**_, with that little stunt of yours! And breakin' his nose isn't much better! More satisfying, but _**damn it**_ Charon! He didn't even fuckin' _do_ anything!"

Her finger was still poking him, and while not painful, it was irritating. Charon's hand caught her wrist, and pulled her hand away from his chest.

"He put his hands on you in an unacceptable manner."

She wasn't backing down. Her large eyes were still narrowed at him, her mouth still set in a frown.

"That's still no reason!"

Charon felt like shaking her. Why didn't she understand? _Why the __**fuck **__didn't she understand?_

Her wrist was tiny in his hand. A good squeeze, and he could snap it. She would be powerless to stop him. Maybe she would understand _then,_ that as fierce and large and stubborn as she could be, she was too _fragile_ for this shitfucked world. Instead, he let go, afraid of accidentally squeezing too hard in his anger and hurting her. As much as he wanted her to understand, he would never want to actually _hurt_ his mistress.

"Mistress-..."

"Why don't you ever call me by my name?"

Charon blinked. Well, that was a change of subject that actually caught him off guard, and he spotted the dog staring at them from his perch on the upper floor, head resting on the floor under the railing.

"Charon, _look at me!_"

He did. That tone made it an order.

Her pale cheeks were flushed. Her hair seemed to be soaking up all light, and sill contrasted starkly with her skin. Her eyes were focused on him, her bottom lip looked like it had been caught between her teeth again.

"Why don't you ever call me by my _name?_"

Charon fought another urge to step back. His mistress was a small woman, practically still a girl. A child, compared to him. Shorter by over a foot, and lighter by probably over a hundred pounds, give or take.

But he did not know how to answer. And her mood was rapidly degrading into territory he did not want to dwell in.

"Well?"

_Because you're Mistress. Because CL is not a proper name for anything. Because I don't know your name. Because I don't know who you are. Because you deserve some more respect than my last employer._

"_Answer me!_"

Damn it. Order tone. Charon grit his teeth, and crossed his arms, ready for the storm that most likely would follow his answer.

"Because _'CL' _is not a proper name."

"Oh."

Oh? Charon stared at her, watching her deflate slightly, that angry flush leaving her cheeks.

She was like a whirlwind, his mistress. One second she was flying about, screaming, the next, she looked absolutely shamed and sheepish. Charon wondered if he would ever get used to it.

"Look, I'm sorry for shouting, it's just...It's just I don't want you to get in trouble because of _me_."

Charon stared, before unfolding his arms, grabbing her wrist again, holding her hand to her face. Could she see the difference like he could? Was it as obvious to her as it was to him?

Judging by the blank look in her face, it wasn't and he grit his teeth.

"You asked me what I was thinking. Do you still want to know?"

He watched her face. Watched her bite her lip, watched her blink.

"No. Yes. No. Yes...maybe. I'm not sure if I'm gonna regret knowing or not. I kinda figure I don't, because you're _you_, and so you...you know what? I'm just gonna chalk it up to one of your 'Charon Knows Best' moments. I think I'll be happier that way."

And she smiled, patting his cheek with her free hand as he let her wrist go, before turning to head up the stairs.

Charon just watched her go, oddly relieved he didn't have to explain himself. He didn't even know where he would begin.

"By the way!"

Charon looked up, staring at the smiling face of his employer.

"I guess you might as well know my actual name, huh?"

He just crossed his arms.

"It's Chen Lijuan."

* * *

><p>"Mistress."<p>

She about jumped out of her skin, heart feeling as if it stopped.

Did he have to scare her? Not only had it been almost silent, with Charon not talking, her erratic breathing, Dogmeat's soft growling and the constant, echoing sounds of the Mirelurks under the Anchorage Memorial. Her spine was tingling constantly, because she could hear them...she could _hear them_, and they weren't in the same room and she _didn't want to kill them_ because that would ruin Moira's study and Moira was so nice and she didn't want to ruin Moira's life's work so that meant that she couldn't ki-...

"_Mistress._"

CL choked out a squeak, before slumping against the metal wall in a relatively empty corridor, body limp, eyes blank, wide, and frightened.

Mirelurks terrified her enough out on the open wastes. In here, when she could constantly hear the reverberating clicks and screeches and footfalls, close quarters and _they opened doors._ Opened. _Doors._

_'Giant mutated crabs with the ability to open doors in an underground labyrinth where it's hard to see and they can pop out of any corner and I can't kill them and so many dead bodies so many dead bodies and the walls are closing in it's hard to breathe hard to breathe an-'_

A hand touched her forehead, and to her, in the uncomfortably cold dampness that was confining in this underground structure, it was burning on her skin.

CL blinked, and looked up at Charon, who was scowling at her. Or in general.

But he was scowling.

She was finding it hard to breathe, a hand releasing the barrel of her rifle to press to her chest, and Charon's hand remained on her forehead for a second before dropping to her shoulder.

"Chen."

She blinked, before focusing on the ghoul in front of her. He was close. And his hand was warm, even through her leather reinforced clothing, since her stupid Ranger Battlearmor was still being re-fitted at Moira's.

"Charon?"

* * *

><p>Charon grit his teeth.<p>

He already knew this had been a bad idea from the start. His mistress apparently did too, before even heading here to do research on this Moira woman's psychotic 'Wasteland Survival Guide' dreams.

That fucking redheaded smoothskin thought Mirelurks were _intelligent_ and had _complex societies._ And asked _his mistress__** to find out**_ for her.

At least _his_ employer wasn't so deluded.

But she _was_ terrified. That much Charon could see.

It started out small. She'd flinch when turning around a corner, her hands would tremble when she reached for a door. Charon couldn't exactly blame her, because he too was getting antsy down here. It was too narrow, the corners were sharp, and the way everything echoed was decidedly paranoia inducing.

But when they came across the first Mirelurk, and Charon caught the way she whimpered and backpedaled away, trying to hide behind a storage shelf, he knew something else was going on. Every Mirelurk they came across, that attacked them, she wasn't shooting back.

Her face drained of what little color it had, her eyes constantly became wider, her hands and body started to shake, but she was not shooting the fucking things.

And now his mistress was nothing a limp rag in his grip, looking at him, but not seeing him, not until he had to wrench her to her feet and say her _name_.

_Only then_ did she see him. _Only then_ did she make a connection between whatever was going on in her head to what was happening now.

"Charon?"

All he could think was that it was about _fucking time_. She'd looked like she was going to pass out at any second.

It had worried him. His mistress was not this scared little _girl._ Even if she was constantly diving in things that were over her head.

"Mistress, would you inform me why you think _now_ is a prime time to take a damn _nap_?"

"I'm tired?"

Charon about slammed his palm into his forehead. She went from being unresponsive to being a smartass, and it sent him from worried to exasperated in less than three seconds. Charon let go of her arm as she grinned up at him.

If he had been anybody else, he would have figured she was perfectly fine. But he wasn't, and so he knew she wasn't, even grinning up at him in her Cheshire cat way. Her eyes were still glassy, her skin was still deathly pale. When his hand had been on her forehead, Charon had felt how clammy it was.

"Bullshit."

Her grin faltered for a second, before regaining its brilliance. Charon had to admit, even shitstruck petrified, his mistress was determined to put on a brave face. He'd seen it with the mutants, when he'd pulled the bullets from her body, and no doubt she'd continue with it.

Charon wondered in the back of his mind if that would be her downfall.

* * *

><p>God damn it. He had to be a fucking god.<p>

Or a really good mind reader. CL did not understand how he could tell what she was thinking, or at least have an accurate assumption. Maybe from all the time she could feel him staring at her like she was going to fall over and shatter in a thousand, million pieces if he looked away.

And he was right. As always.

He indeed had to be a fucking _god._

But it was bullshit. They both knew it. CL was pisspants terrified, he'd noticed, and now she was trying to play it off and they both knew she couldn't. Her grin was far too forced, CL could feel it, and he had not seemed happy with her automatic smartmouth response.

But _hell_ if she was going to _admit_ he was right. Not right _now._ Right now, there was a job to do.

She'd give Charon his due later.

"Probably. Now, let's shove this fucking probe in an egg, and like, get the _fuck_ out of this place."

From the look on his face, he knew something that made her distinctly uncomfortable, and CL tried to shrug it off, squaring her shoulders, and taking a right turn down a hall that had been rather quiet.

Hell if she was going to look weak in front of _him_. What if she disappointed him or something?

For some reason, that thought made her sick to her stomach.

* * *

><p><em>She screamed.<em>

_She didn't mean to scream. She really didn't._

_She also didn't expect to turn around after hearing some sort of breathy roar to have a __**monster**__ up close and personal, lunging at her._

_It's fingers were spread wide, claws gleaming, horns on top of its head making it seem so, so much taller than it was. The tail was oddly stiff, and the teeth..._

_CL threw herself backwards, still screaming at the top of her lungs, those claws barely missing her face. _

_She never saw the second swipe, and only a burning around her chest, the acute, clean burn of surgically sharp cuts, let her know she'd been hit._

_Those claws cut through her leather reinforced clothes like butter_

_Her survival instincts kicked in before her brain could even comprehend what was going on, and CL found herself continuing to backpedal, firing her pistol wildly at the demon in front of her. Only a few of her bullets hit the creature, but she might as well have missed, because it never even __**paused**__._

_She was sure she was going to die, and the burning of her wounds kept her short on breath. Her steps faltered on uneven ground, and she fell, still firing. _

_Hell if she was going to be an easy meal._

_The creature stopped though, teeth bared, arms splayed out as if to dice her up. CL bared her teeth back, raising her gun in her last line of defense._

_Her luck played in there, because the demon turned away, and CL followed its gaze to the two forms racing towards them, one lunging into the claws of the larger creature._

_Two Yao Guais versus a single Deathclaw._

_CL raced away to Megaton before she could find out who would win the battle of devil animals raging behind her._

_Her side was on fire as she fell in through the gates of the town, gripping onto the first person she saw for balance, hair half out of its braid, blood coating her clothes, and just trying not to pass out._

_What sort of world __**was this?**_


	6. Intelligence

**_Author's Note:_**

I'm tired. I'm stressed. I absolutely hate set up downloads, because they are terrible for my mental health.

Simple and quick my ass.

Anyway, please, enjoy this chapter.

-icewolf

* * *

><p><em>"No one thinks of how much blood it costs." - Dante Alighieri<em>

* * *

><p><em>"Daddy."<em>

_He blinked, looking up from his files, giving her a smile as he put another spoonful of sugar in his coffee._

_"What is it sweetheart?"_

_She wasn't smiling this morning. Running her spoon through her own bowl of cereal, head propped up on her palm, elbow on the table like she'd been told not to do several times. Her hair slipped over her shoulder, pooling on the table, gleaming in the bluish light, and her eyes peered up though her almost too long bangs._

_She didn't know that in this moment, but James Morrison was struck at how much his fifteen year old daughter looked like his late wife._

_After all, a gene projector was never completely correct, was it?_

_"Is it true what the psychologist said?"_

_He raised an eyebrow._

_"Is what true, sweetheart?"_

_She blinked slowly, frown becoming more pronounced._

_"I mean, you're a doctor, right? So like, why would a stupid mind poker know more than an actual __**doctor**__? If something was wrong with me, you would have known way long before than Boone, right? Right. So tell me, daddy, is it true? Because you sure didn't seem like you had my back when he wanted to speak with you. Do you think I have something wrong with me, and you never said it?"_

_Her voice was raising, her cheeks were warming, a sign that they were turning pink. CL looked down at her breakfast, stabbing a sugar coated bomb with her spoon._

_No, she was not happy, not after hearing that her dad agreed with the Vault's quackadoodle._

_"I shouldn't be surprised you were listening. However, I would like to know exactly what you heard."_

_Her girp on her spoon tightened, and she jerked her head up, locking eyes with her dad, who looked as calm and collected as ever, sipping his coffee._

_She scowled, straightening in her seat, nose scrunching up, before she opened up her mouth._

_"He said something about me having signs of __**hy-per-thy-mic temp-er-ment.**__ And you went ahead and said 'Yes, I had noticed myself, __**Thank you Dr. Boone**__'."_

_Her face felt like it was on fire, and her palm smacked the table._

_"What have I said about elongating your words, young lady?"_

_Why was he smiling? This wasn't funny._

_"Don't you joke about this dad! You __**agreed**__ to what he said! You __**turned**__ on me! You think there's something __**wrong with me**__, don't you! So why don't you tell me what it is, huh? Does that mean I'm dangerous, or something? You think I'm psychotic? Is that it? You think I'm gonna go like, fuck near crazy?"_

_His smile was gone then, and he set his cup of coffee down on the table, a frown on his face._

_"Calm down. I understand you are a teenager, and yes, you are going to have an attitude from time to time, but I am still your father, so I would appreciate if you did not speak to me like that. Mind your words."_

_Her face was burning more, her fist clenched, nails digging into her stinging palm. Besides all that, her eyes closed, and CL took a deep breath. Cursing around her dad was out of line. She knew that. But damn it, she was angry, and using one of the words she'd heard Butch and Wally use a couple times made her feel a bit better._

_"And I did not 'turn on you', as you so put it. You are my daughter, and I love you very much."_

_She huffed, before looking to the side._

_"That being said, I will discuss this with you when you are mature enough to completely grasp the concept. Now is not the time, I'm afraid, sweetheart."_

_Of course. She just looked back down at her soggy breakfast._

_"Now, hurry up, you're going to be late for class."_

_She didn't look up as he stood, gathering his files, and walking around the table to give her a kiss on the top of her head._

_She didn't look up when he left the unit they lived in, heading to his office._

_She just clenched her fist, squeezing her eyes shut. _

_Now was __**never**__ the time anymore._

* * *

><p>"I don't recognize you, new in town or something?"<p>

CL just blinked at the older, taller girl, who she'd bumped into on the ramp to her house.

She was blonde, and CL felt like she'd seen her around town before, but then again, CL had seen a lot of people. In fact, she was only back in Megaton for supplies, and she hadn't expected to see many people out at eight thirty in the morning. That was the whole reason for getting supplies early.

"Sure am. Stopped in for something to do."

Technically, it was true. She _was_ new in town, and she _had _stopped in for something to do. Hence the bags in her arms.

"I hope by 'something to do', you mean a job, otherwise you want to talk with Nova."

CL's face warmed up considerably, and she narrowed her eyes slightly at the blonde. Well, _that_ was certainly bitchyrude of her to say. Where did this girl get off telling anybody anything? Come to think about it, CL _did_ remember where she saw this girl. In the corner of Moriarty's.

So yeah. Bitch can't talk.

CL shifted her bags in her arms, ready to leave with a tight smile on her face.

"I'm looking for somebody to make a delivery. Interested?"

Her hazel eyes blinked once. A delivery? That could be interesting. A reason to set out again, and explore more places in the wastes. Charon might not be happy...but then again, CL really didn't think he ever was.

She should be getting back to him soon. He seemed kinda miffed when she said she didn't need him to run to the store with her.

"Sure, why not."

"Great! I need you to deliver this message to my family in the Arefu Settlement. I haven't heard from them in months and I'm worried."

She didn't seem very worried, to be honest. The girl had a few lines around her eyes, but if she really was worried, wouldn't she go herself?

"As soon as you get there, talk to Davis West. He'll be glad to pay you for the trip."

Speaking for other people. Well, either she knew this 'Davis' very well, or she was _definitely_ more of a bitch than she seemed like currently.

CL decided right then that she did _not_ like this girl.

That wouldn't stop her from taking a letter to her family, of course. Family had the right to know about the welfare of its members. Family was important.

So she took the envelope, and slipped it into her belt, until she could put it in her bag.

"Can you give me some information about Arefu?"

* * *

><p>"GAH! <em>FUCK!"<em>

She hopped around on one foot, holding her other, with throbbed from kicking a rock in frustration.

"Stupid, fucking...bitchwhore! Total _cocksucking fuckwad!_ Shit, shit goddamn _son of a bitch!_"

Whether she was talking about Lucy, or this trip, or the raider that had just tried to ambush them was uncertain.

Most of it was probably on Lucy, who had probably known this trip was going to be annoyingly tedious and mildly dangerous.

"Mistress, are you quite finished?"

"No, I'm not _fuckin' finished!_ When I get back to Megaton, I'm gonna, like...flay her or something. Stupid bitch was so concerned about her family, but doesn't' have the balls to go see them herself?"

She was taking a couple deep breaths, her foot back on the ground, Dogmeat panting next to Charon, who was still staring at her.

There was silence for a few minutes.

"Are you finished now?"

CL sighed, and drooped slightly.

"Yeah."

And then they were on the move again, leaving the corpse of the raider behind them, leaving the smell of burnt flesh and blood behind them. Bloatflies floated in on the breeze after they'd left, descending to feed on the body.

There was silence for a while.

Well, as much silence as there could be around CL. Despite her outburst of anger, she was humming, checking her Pip-Boy every so often to make sure they were going in the right direction, and just talking.

"So, did you know that the human body can actually survive without the stomach or the spleen? Moira told me that, but when you actually think about it, it's true, but totally not true at the same time. After all, the spleen is important in its function that it removes old red blood cells while totally holding extra blood in case of hemorrhagic shock, and recycles iron as well. And the stomach, well, it's totally the _stomach_. Breaking down food to make it easier for the large and small intestines to absorb nutrients."

She turned to face Charon then, smile as wide as ever.

"So while neither of the organs is so called _vital_, and the human body can go on surviving without either one, the person would be in terrible condition from then on forth, unless there's an artificial organ that can be used to replace it."

She just got a blink, and a slight frown.

"How do you know that?"

CL just blinked back.

She was actually kind of surprised herself. Her dad was a doctor, after all, but had she really picked up that much from him? She remembered browsing through his holodisks and books when she was sick and bored. She remembered him having her help around his office when she got older, after class. She remembered his offhand lectures.

She just never imagined she'd remember so much.

"My daddy is a doctor."

* * *

><p>Her father was a doctor?<p>

It struck Charon then, that again, he didn't know much about his mistress. He'd gotten her name, sure. He'd eventually been given her age ("How old are you anyway?" "Nineteen. I know, I'm short. Don't tease.")

But again, there were things he just didn't know. Of course she had a mother and father, but he'd never really bothered to think about her as somebody else's child.

After all, she was his mistress. It was quite odd to think of her having a life outside of when he'd been with her, to be honest. Charon really didn't have a reason _to_ think beyond it.

But hearing her spout off facts about human organs as if she was simply talking about the weather, it had been a jarring surprise. And the wide eyed, simple explanation that her dad was a doctor, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He didn't say a word about it, however. If Charon had learned anything, it was that learning things about her would have him wanting to drown in a bottle of scotch for the rest of the night, just to get rid of the headache.

Not that they were _bad_ headaches. Just ones he didn't want to deal with.

So he kept his mouth shut as the trip continued, except when she tripped over her own feet for the third time in the growing dark, even with that computer on her wrist brightening the area around her.

"Mistress, we should stop for the night, before you break your leg."

She turned to him, smile on her face, checking her computer, eyes squinted against the over bright screen.

"No way. Arefu is like, way close. If we keep walking, we'll be able to get there in um...a few hours, at the most."

Charon could feel the headache already creeping on him.

"I'm not going to argue, Mistress. _We're stopping now."_

He actually felt his mouth tug slightly as she looked up at him and pouted, before forcing the sensation to grin back. She really _was_ entertaining sometimes.

He had no reserves at all in admitting to himself that she was by far his favorite employer. Definitely his favorite human by a long shot.

Who had his last favorite been? Did he actually _have_ a last favorite?

It was hard to remember. With how many employers and people he'd known in all his years, after a while, they blurred together into a formless shape and face, voices mixing.

Charon shook his head, forcing away another unneeded headache. and focused on dealing with his mistress, who, once again, looked like she was ready to defy him.

There was something inherently _wrong_ with that statement that should have bothered him.

Should have. Didn't.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Mistress."

* * *

><p>She huffed, before biting into her squirrel, and washing it down with a swig of warmish soda.<p>

CL didn't want to admit, but of course, Charon was right again. It had gotten far too dark, far too fast. No moon and a chill in the air that had her scooting closer to the fire.

It had been getting cooler, she'd noticed. More clouds.

A breeze floated past, and CL huffed again, tearing a strip of meat from the animal speared on the stick, popping it in her mouth.

Her back was colder than her front. It was annoying. But if she turned to warm it, her front would be cold and her eyes would have to re-adjust to the dark beyond the little rocky alcove they had used for shelter. She couldn't lie against Dogmeat, as snuggly as he was, simply because the pooch never stayed still for long.

CL narrowed her eyes at Charon, who was calmly poking at the fire, his own meal practically untouched next to him.

Come to think about it, she'd rarely ever seen him eat.

She actually didn't know much about him at all.

That bothered her. A lot.

God _damn_ her back was cold. That was _it._

CL stood, not even bothering to brush dirt off her rear, not caring about Charon staring at her as she walked around the fire to plop next to him, leaning her back against his side, her arms crossed over her chest, eyes closed.

There. Her back wasn't so cold. Much better.

Now, if Warrior God Charon could keep his eyes from melting a hole in her head, things would be just perfect.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing?"

"Substituting me for a cushion."

She opened her eyes, flashing a grin over her shoulder.

"Well, if you knew, why'd you ask? That seems silly."

He frowned, and her grin widened.

"Don't play coy, Mistress. You knew what I meant."

CL's grin died slightly, and she looked back at her feet, moving them slightly.

"I'm cold, alright? You're not. Can we just drop it please?"

* * *

><p>She really did baffle him sometimes.<p>

All Charon could really do was stare as his mistress spoke her piece, and relaxed against his side.

Charon was finding it hard to relax, himself. He was comfortable enough, to be sure, with a warming rock on his back, the fire on his front, and having a relatively stress free trek.

His mistress however, was _lying against him._

He had _just_ gotten almost completely used to her random touches. He was begging to _god_ that this wasn't a common occurrence in the near future.

It was extremely distracting. A complete disregard of social norm.

He just kept staring as she shifted, and he stiffened slightly, waiting for her to finish 'warming up' and leave.

Instead, she settled back again without a word, completely relaxed.

She must still be cold.

But she didn't move for a while after that. And Charon was feeling itchy under his skin. Or what was left of it.

And his arm was staring to fall asleep, and that wasn't really pleasant at all.

"Mistress."

No reply. No movement. Well, he shouldn't be surprised.

Charon moved his arm under her back.

She moved then, with his arm, then back into her former spot, slipping past his arm after a second, and landing on his lap. Charon stiffened, looking down, waiting for a grin, a giggle, or those eyes gleaming in a way that let the ghoul know she was teasing him.

Her eyes were closed, and she was not smiling.

He gawked. She'd fallen asleep on him.

_She'd _fallen asleep on _him._

She'd _fallen asleep_ on him.

Charon's head gave a particularly nasty throb, not even acknowledging the dog that had curled up on his other side.

What the _fuck_. Did she really feel that comfortable around him, or was she really that tired? She had to have been extremely tired, that had to be it, because nobody in their right mind would ever want to be so close to a ghoul for so long.

_'But was she ever in her right mind?'_

The thought came to him unbidden, and pushed away just as suddenly. No.

His mistress was a lot of things. Brash, blunt, loud, impulsive, pigheaded, among others. But she was certainly _not_ insane.

That Moira woman, on the other hand. _She_ had some seriously fucked up screws missing.

No. His mistress simply had to be tired from the pace she'd set for the day, and fell asleep before she could move away.

Charon relaxed after this rationalization, adjusting his legs slightly so they wouldn't fall asleep under her head.

He wouldn't wake her. In the months since Charon had been in her employment, he'd noticed her sleep patterns were erratic. A few hours every other day or so. It would be healthy for her to actually rest, instead of breaking herself with exhaustion.

So Charon let her sleep, and made sure his shotgun was in easy reach.

After all, it doesn't do one good to be caught off guard in this hellhole.

* * *

><p>An arm wrapped around her chest, and CL was pulled off her feet for a second as Charon yanked her back from the blast that was ridiculously close to where she had been a moment before.<p>

Well, _that_ was some welcome. Despite the _highly_ undignified yelp that had come from her throat, she was quite miffed.

Lucy had said Arefu was located on an old overpass. They'd found the old overpass, and seen the buildings. So either Arefu-ians were rude and inhospitable people, or raiders had attacked.

Considering the rotting slaughtered Brahmin out front, CL was ready to call raiders.

Now. If only Charon would let her go so she could go crack some skulls, which would be _lovely._

"Hang on, you're not one of them! I nearly blasted you in two!"

_'Not with that aim, old man.'_

CL was finally released from her companion's grip, and she glanced back at the ghoul, then back up at the ramp.

"Get over here before they spot you!"

The man was waving them over, and CL was starting to suspect that the man was a bit off his rocker. Who would spot them? She hadn't seen anybody on the way up, and even if she hadn't, Charon usually would alert her to the fact if there were things or people nearby that actually required the policy of 'throw explosives first and ask questions later.'

Either way, she headed up the overpass. Just a bit slower and glancing back at Charon a bit more often for support.

He just kept his eyes on the grenade lobbing man waiting for them.

Of course. Mr. Never Caught Off Guard, that was Charon. CL grinned, before stopping in front of the sandbag barricade.

The man was oldish, probably in his fifties, if she had to guess, with a hunting rifle in _terrible_ condition slung across his back.

This was probably Evan King, the self-appointed mayor and sheriff of Arefu. Lucy had mentioned him.

"Now, what the hell are you doin' all the way out here?"

She slipped her hand in her bag, and held out the envelope.

"Well, I have a letter for the West family."

King just blinked at her, crossing his arms, a scowl on his weathered face.

"That's great, but I got bigger problems than being the town post office right now. The shit's about to hit the fan in this cesspool, and I don't think I can stop them."

Well, gee, how was she supposed to know that? Either way, the envelope was back in her bag, and CL propped her hands on her hips, tilting her head to the side, curious. Who was 'them'?

"What kind of trouble?"

The man looked beyond tired in that moment and CL felt terrible for King. Nobody needed extra trouble at all, not now.

"Well at first they'd do typical gang bullshit. You know, break stuff and make lots of noise, but they always kept their distance. But this time, they've gone too far! They killed all our Brahmin! I mean, that's our lifeblood out there!"

She nodded a couple times, frowning slightly. But there was something about the way King said 'them' and 'they'. If it was just raiders, or slavers, most people wouldn't be so upset, right?

"So what's got you so spooked?"

She watched King blink a couple times, but she was genuinely curious. What could be so scary about these _people_? CL looked over her shoulder at Charon quickly, who met her gaze for a second, and then nodded back at the man she'd been talking too, who had sighed.

"Look..."

Large hazel eyes focused on the man.

"Call me crazy if you want, but there's just something odd about those creeps. I mean, they got the guns and they got the muscle. Why don't they just bust down our doors and take us out already?"

That _was_ sort of odd.

"We're really in a bad way, and could use some help."

Yes, they could. CL patted the top of Dogmeat's head, and scratched his skull with her nails for a moment.

"I'll be glad to help. What do you need?"

* * *

><p>Oh no.<p>

Charon tensed just hearing those nine words.

'_I'll be glad to help. What do you need?'_

Those words, as well as any variation, tended to stress him out. For good reason.

Maybe his mistress _was_ insane, throwing her help around like she was running for saint.

The girl wasn't immortal. Surely she knew that. She just...She just...

And now his head was hurting. He took it out by glaring at the man who was giving his mistress instructions to check on the other dwellers of the extremely sad looking settlement. Of course she agreed.

Maybe he just had to hammer in the lesson that agreeing to everything is a _bad_ idea. Mainly because it could get you killed out here.

At least so far all the man needed her to do was check on the other residents, and making their way to the first home, Charon caught her arm, and hauled her around to face him, scowling down at her.

Of course she'd look that way, wide eyed, mouth slightly open as if she wasn't sure of what she wanted to say.

Charon had an inexplicable urge to make her shut her mouth. He fought it.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Mistress?"

Her brows furrowed slightly, and she pulled against his grip slightly. Charon didn't let go, glaring as fiercely as ever.

"I'm checking on these people. You're not an idiot Charon, were you not listening? I'm gonna check on these people, and deliver Lucy's letter."

"You have no obligation to check on them."

"That's not true."

His hand tightened on her arm slightly, and she winced, but continued, her voice rising, her cheeks turning a light pink, her eyes sparking with something that made his chest burn at the sheer _ferocity_.

"It's _not_ true, because they need _help_, and _I can _give it. And if I _can_ give help, than it's my duty as a fuckin' _decent human _bein' _to_ give help. _Otherwise, _I'm like, no better than a _merc_ out for _caps_, or a_ raider _out on a drugged up high, or one of these _fuckin' scared sacks of shit_, sittin' in my unit _too afraid to live _in this tin can world, and dyin' before I could even fathom what livin' _is."_

Charon just stared at her, and she twisted her arm out of his grip, planting her hands on her hips and peering up at him, as if daring him to say anything to rebuke her.

She was indeed much like a whirlwind

If only he actually had a _clue_ what she meant exactly. Charon had an idea, and that idea had his head hurting and his chest feeling like there was a fire lit there.

It wasn't unpleasant at all.

"And I _refuse_ that existence."

This girl before him could change the world.

Charon was sure of it.

And he would assist her whenever she needed him. It was his job. His duty. His contractual obligation.

But it was _starting_ to become his pleasure.


	7. Interval One

**_Author's Note:_**

Hello again.

I've finally figured out an update schedule. I'm going to try giving two chapters a month.

Try, being the key word.

And enjoy this semi-chapter.

-icewolf

* * *

><p><strong>Interval One:<strong>

Chen Lijuan Morrison

* * *

><p><strong>Regarding Wildlife<strong>

CL blinked a couple times, perched on her rock, just out of sight from the Yao Guai not a hundred yards away, the mutated bear just ambling around, sniffing the ground.

It was rare that she saw one that wasn't on the attack. It was actually sort of cute.

Maybe she could just walk around it, instead of having her face the target of teeth and claws. She slid her foot down the rock, hoping to get by unnoticed. A pebble was loosed then, and clattered absurdly loudly.

CL froze, and the bear turned to look at her, milky eyes locking on her position, ragged ears perked forward, and lips curling over teeth. She could hear the snarling from here, and lifted her rifle off of her back, aiming between the eyes of the animal that had started forward.

She had no bullets, but there was no way the Yao Guai knew that. In fact, her posturing seemed to work just fine, because the animal had halted, still snarling, still staring. CL bared her teeth back, more out of fun than aggression.

What a stupid animal.

She backed up, never taking her eyes off the bear in front of her, and sidestepped slowly, only to stop and turn her head slowly to the right, where a slight puff of air had sent her skin crawling.

She was met with the face of another Yao Guai, teeth showing, eyes crazed, and very, very close.

Oh. Crap.

CL's eyes widened.

"_Clever girl._"

* * *

><p><strong>Regarding Neighbors<strong>

CL shrieked as the raider woman slammed the back of her leg with a thrown chair inside the school, falling flat on her face, her gun clattering just out of reach, bullets scattered across the dirty, dark, bloodstained floor.

Dogmeat had gone to take on another raider, and was nowhere in sight.

Damn.

"I've got you now, girl!"

She turned, and crawled backwards from the advancing woman, who had pulled out a pistol and was aiming it at her face. The raider had a sadistic grin on her dirty face, and the finger tightened on the trigger. CL closed her eyes tightly.

A gunshot rang out.

CL opened her eyes slightly, hand tickling, ear buzzing, and confused beyond belief on why she wasn't dead. The raider seemed just as baffled as she was, staring at her gun.

"I aimed right at you, what the fuck?"

CL blinked, before looking down at her hand, which still felt like it was being tickled. Her eyes widened, and she looked back up, teeth bared in a snarl.

"_Bitch! YOU SHOT MY HAIR!_"

* * *

><p><strong>Regarding Leveling Up<strong>

CL squashed the last Radroach with a well-aimed hammer toss, not even really putting effort into it. She'd killed dozens upon dozens of the crawlers in this Metro.

Dogmeat didn't even really find a need to attack them.

Though, she didn't know what possessed her to look at the dog, who panted as his mismatched eyes locked on her.

"You know, despite the raiders, the Mirelurks, the occasional feral ghoul that I've encountered down here and gotten rid of, I do feel that _this_ has set me above and beyond my current worldly survival skills, and I have entered a new level in my life."

The dog panted.

"Come, mongrel! We shall venture forth and continue to kill and take names! Ha ha _ha._"

* * *

><p><strong>Regarding Vault-Tec Bobbleheads<strong>

"You know, now after reading this like, totally inspiring quote on the bottom of this really creepily cheerful bobblehead, I feel like that I've gained awesome skill points."

"Mistress, are you going to speak to yourself all day?"

"_SILENCE_! I'm basking in my new and improved awesomeness, here!"

* * *

><p><strong>Regarding Computers<strong>

CL slammed her hand down on the monitor, trying to get the screen to read clear enough for her to hack the damn thing.

"Piece of _shit_. How the _fuck_ did this survive the bombs?"

* * *

><p><strong>Regarding Mercy<strong>

The raider had been trying to keep a pillar between them so he could fire off shots, while CL had to fend with a bat, her rifle out of ammo, her pistol jammed. He wasn't a very good shot, and CL had to forgive him for that.

The distinct sound of a magazine being ejected for reloading, and CL darted forward and around the pillar, swinging the wood bat with all her might for his leg.

It connected, and the man fell. She continued to wallop him across the back and sides with the wood until it began to splinter under her hands, and she stepped away. The man was still alive, and groaning.

"And if you're smart, you'll _stay_ down, bitch!"

* * *

><p><strong>Regarding TALON<strong>

"I don't know you! Go away! _Quit stalking me!_"

* * *

><p><strong>Regarding Colds<strong>

The raider pressed down on the lead pipe, and CL struggled to keep it from crushing her neck, but being pressed up against a doorjamb, and the size of the raider in front of her, she was losing this fight. Dogmeat was busy with the raider's dogs, and Charon was dispatching a whole group by himself.

She was on her own, and failing terribly.

The tip of her nose itched, and she lost a few inches of space between her throat and the pipe from the distraction. It happened again, and CL started to blink rapidly, and trying to force back the urge that was growing.

The raider was now almost face to face with her, the pipe cold against her skin.

"I have to sneeze."

The man blinked once, sneer fading slightly.

"What?"

"I need to cover my nose."

He thought about that for a second, before narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah rig-"

She sneezed then, unable to hold it back any longer, and the raider reeled back, dropping the pipe and wiping at his eyes.

"_Fucking shit! Gross, fucking gross!"_

"I warned you."

* * *

><p><strong>Regarding Good Timing<strong>

She just stared at the sight before her.

Three Super Mutants, two Giant Radscorpions, and a Deathclaw had decided to go battle royale on the other side of the hill she just climbed.

CL sat down and took out a cola from her pack, and decided to watch the show.


	8. Strength

_**Author's Note:**_

I finally finished this chapter! It took far longer than I wanted it too, but I do hope it's worth it.

I do want to address and recognize people, and something a question I had gotten I feel needs to be addressed.

Thank you:

Malkavian-Acts

FalynnAngel

AmazonaV

silverdragon0315

ChiyukiLuvs2Glomp

narutopower1991

For your silent, text based support. Always a thanks to my Beta, who has to deal with any neurotic behavior I may exhibit.

And for the clarification.

This is _not_ a romance story. Charon and CL will not get together. There will be no capital letter Love between them, for several reasons.

1) I can't write romance.

2) Charon is far too old for CL.

3) I can't write romance.

4) CL is not the sort of person to fall in love.

5) I can't write romance.

I have nothing against stories that do portray a romantic relationship between the Lone Wanderer and Charon, I simply am unable to see a situation like that between my own LW and the ghoul. Or write it.

Most of my attempts of romance turn out with one or both characters dead.

Now, that's out of the way.

I hope this chapter is enjoyable.

-icewolf

* * *

><p><em>"For what is liberty but the unhampered translation of will into act?"- Dante Alighieri<em>

* * *

><p>"Put me down, Charon!"<p>

He didn't, and CL swatted his shoulder, hoping that would help further her case. What case? Well, she didn't exactly have one.

She just wanted to be put down, instead of slung over the ghoul's shoulder like a sack of flour.

It was really uncomfortable.

"_Cha-rooon._"

"Don't whine."

"Then put me down!"

"Are you going to run headfirst into a raider camp as soon as I do?"

CL's jaw snapped shut, opened, and shut again, before she slumped, going limp. Damn. Damn the raiders, damn the Wastelander she'd seen them kill, damn her instinct to rush to the defense of a dead person.

And damn _him _for knowing _exactly_ what was on her mind, and bodily taking her far enough away that it would really be pointless to go backwards.

Charon was great. He really was. CL held him in extremely high regard, took (most of) his opinions in account, and tried her damnedness to please an**d **impress him with what she could do. CL was fond of him. Charon was her friend. Somebody she could stake her life on.

That was probably dangerous thinking.

_'After all, he's only with you because of a contract.'_

CL blinked, before feeling her mouth turn down slightly in a frown as the ghoul continued to walk, her eyes on the dog trailing a few feet behind.

That was right. She couldn't be stupid. She couldn't be naive. She couldn't be blindsided anymore.

Things had to be in perspective.

But perspective sucked all the joy out of her chest. It was just too painful to go on with _everything_ stripped down to the barest truth in the front of her head. CL knew she wouldn't be able to bear it, because once one truth was unraveled, _all_ of them were. It was a snowball effect, whatever a snowball was.

There was just no stopping it, unless it never started to begin with.

Charon stopped suddenly, before the arm locked around her waist loosened, and CL was being lowered to her feet, being slid against his shoulder carefully, so she wouldn't land on her ass. Feet firmly on the ground, she stretched, and smiled at him.

Of course, Charon looked as surly as ever.

"Where is our next destination?"

CL shrugged, before bringing her Pip-Boy up, dials turning until the map feature came up, looking at their position, as well as the other marked co-ordinates they'd been given in Arefu by King after she'd found the bodies of Lucy's parents dead in their home, with no sign of a brother. What had been weird though, was the fact that the parents had bite marks...but there was so little blood around.

Everything had been reported, and the man had asked her to go see if she could find the missing boy. And the Family.

Finding the Family. Should have been easy, but not only did King never seen where these people came from, but every place so far that they'd been given was a bust.

Moonbeam Cinema was bare, the only things they found were wild dogs and Bloatflies, along with a couple of Super Mutants. Really not a big deal. After the Statesman Hotel, mutants didn't seem to faze her as much. They just sent a surge of annoyance through her.

Hamilton's Hideaway's only occupants were Radscorpions and a pair of raiders. She might have gotten lost a couple times, but damn, there really wasn't anything.

The only place left was the Northwest Seneca Station.

"Seneca. Northwest. Actually not, like, too far, to be honest. I think. Maybe."

She could feel his eyes on her, and CL looked up, smile on her face.

"So let's go, Charon."

The ghoul nodded, arms crossed, expecting her to take out front as usual. She did, leading the way across the wastes, checking her Pip-Boy every ten minutes, smiling all the while.

* * *

><p>She was being quiet today.<p>

That set Charon on edge.

Quiet was not normal. Quiet meant that there was plotting afoot.

Plotting usually made his blood pressure raise.

Maybe he'd gone too far. Maybe his mistress, despite how oddly she acted, actually _did_ mind being picked up and carried away. Perhaps she was now thinking of his punishment for humiliation and degradation on her part.

Charon could not keep a straight face while thinking that.

Chen, _punish_ him? His mistress was a great many things, good and bad. Cruel was not one of them. And only flat out cruelty would have her punish him, when Charon was only looking out for her well-being. They both knew that.

Though, in retrospect, Charon could have been less of an ass about it. He'd smirked and silently chuckled at her whining and ineffectual swats to his back and shoulders, knowing the intent but not feeling the real willpower behind the actions. He'd enjoyed his mistress acting like a child. It suited her, after all. Pouts and smiles fit on her face much better than it would on anybody else.

It didn't hurt that Charon liked to see them. It stoked that slow, burning feeling in his chest when she did.

"Charon?"

He trained his eyes to her, watching her hair. It still fascinated him that hair that dark could exist in the natural world without being burnt to charcoal.

"Mistress?"

"How old are you?"

That question caught him off guard, and instantly suspicion rose through Charon, before he quashed it down forcefully. He had nothing to be suspicious of.

Right?

"Why do you want to know?"

She turned to face him then, finger tapping her lip, free hand running across the dog's head.

"Well. I asked a guy once where ghouls came from, and he said that the _only_ ghouls are _old _ghouls, on account of being heavily irradiated. Not to mention Carol's old enough to remember the War. And well..."

Charon crossed his arms, and waited for his mistress to finish. She was fidgeting, tugging on her hair and grinning.

"I've spent almost three months with you, and I like, know next to nothing _about_ you. That's totally unacceptable, because you're always around, and you know more about me, and well, I _want_ to know more about you. That's what friends do, right? Share?"

Charon could not believe he had just heard that.

* * *

><p>CL could not believe she just said that.<p>

Already, she could feel her face heat up, blushing. She had just said that. That she considered him a friend, even after the mental lashing that _'He is not your friend, he is your employee'_.

Only, she didn't feel that way. And CL couldn't lie to save her life, not even to herself, apparently.

How else would a normal person feel about another that was always there, dependable for anything?

That didn't stop her from acting like a spaz though, waving her hands and laughing, face practically on fire as Charon just stared at her, brows furrowed.

The first panicked thought in her head was that she'd angered him by saying what she'd said.

"You know what? Like, no no, don't mind, don't bother, I mean, yeah, I don't really need to know after allit'sreallyokayyoudon'thavetosay-..."

"I can't answer if you keep running your mouth."

CL's mouth snapped shut suddenly, so fast her teeth actually clicked.

He was actually going to answer her? So that look on his face wasn't anger? Or irritation? Or maybe he was irritated that she'd stopped to practically ask him to do math in his head. Math sucked.

She was good at it, but that didn't help it suck less.

She blinked a couple times, before a smile worked its way across her face, before raising her finger, as if a brilliant idea had just struck her.

"How about this, if you're gonna answer the question."

She felt her face heat up more under his stare, but continued to smile.

"How about how long you've been a ghoul? Like, totally completely ghoulified?"

It took him a few moments, but Charon answered. A bit slowly, as if he still wasn't completely sure, despite the finality of his tone.

"About a hundred and fifty years. Perhaps a bit longer."

CL nodded once, before tapping her lip again.

"Do you remember how old you were when you completely ghoulified?"

"Thirty one."

That was fast. CL blinked a couple times.

Thirty one? That was barely being a super adult, right on the edge. Her own dad would be fortysomething this year, if she remembered correctly. Charon had been younger than her _dad_.

Had been. Obviously wasn't, anymore.

"So...thirty one, plus one fifty, carry the one, plus or minus a few extra years...Holy _shit!_ You're like, _old._"

He frowned, and she laughed, waving her hands at him in a placating manner.

"No no, I mean, like, old. I know you're old, but I totally didn't think you were like, great great great grandpappy old. Seriously."

His frown intensified, and she smiled broadly, happy to have learned something new about the man in front of her. CL skipped up a couple steps, her former embarrassment gone as if it had never been present in the first place.

What was she embarrassed for? She'd spoken the truth.

CL tiptoed to pat the ghoul on the cheek, and flashed him a real smile. Screw whatever the rational part of her mind was saying about anything.

Why start listening to it now?

"It really doesn't matter, anyway, Charon. I still love ya the way ya are, totally."

She didn't even wait to see his reaction before turning around, and heading to Northwest Seneca Station.

* * *

><p>Charon didn't even miss a beat.<p>

The combat knife slipped from his fingertips as he threw it, neatly passing over her head, and buried itself in the neck of the man who had raised a shotgun to fire at CL.

He didn't care who they were _now_, only that they were attacking them. More specifically, these men were targeting the girl that Charon had hauled behind himself.

His mistress. His friend, as she called herself.

Either way._** His.**_

These people must be carrying their balls in a wheelbarrow, or else they were plain idiotic.

Considering the lack of wheelbarrows, it was definitely the latter.

The man with the knife in his neck was on the ground, blood seeping through clasped hands, streaming from the corner of the mouth, pouring down the front of the black armor. Charon paid him no mind, instead focusing on the second man, who had the dog's jaws clasped on his arm.

That man was only wielding a knife, and not a threat.

The third was nowhere to be seen at the moment, and Charon narrowed his eyes, before glancing behind him.

He didn't know why he bothered. Of course she wasn't there. Not if the constant chatter of a submachine gun and the cracks of a rifle were anything to go by.

How the _hell_ had she slipped past him to the other side of the old building was beyond him.

Charon stopped trying to rationalize how his mistress did certain things. He didn't need any more headaches than what he had now, and man, as much as he liked his mistress, right now, Charon wanted to throttle her.

Again.

Instead, he settled for making his way around the building, conscious of the sound of volleying fire abruptly ending, and blinked at the sight before him.

Just beyond the car, the man lay on his back, his mistress's rifle pressed into his forehead, and his mistress not looking happy at all. In fact, she looked furious and Charon approached with caution.

The man in the armor was still alive, moving weakly. Judging from the awkward angle, she'd shot both of his knees out.

Charon blinked at the look on her face as he approached. She looked much more murderous than he had ever seen her before, and it made his wary.

"Mistress."

* * *

><p>"Mistress."<p>

She ignored him. Well, she didn't exactly _ignore_ him. She knew he was there.

CL just had bigger things on her plate than her Warrior God Ghoul giving her a tone while she was asking this TALON merc a question.

"Are you goin' to answer me?"

She pressed the barrel of the gun into the man's head, chambering another round in the rifle, and pressing her foot into his chest a bit more.

She had to give the guy credit. A round to both his knees, a gun to his head and he wasn't giving up his poker face.

Too bad that's not what she wanted.

"Are. You. Going. To. _Answer. Me?_"

"Fuck you, _whore_."

The man spat at her, and CL pulled the gun away from the merc's forehead, and pressed it into the man's shoulder, a mad grin spreading across her lips.

"_Wrong_!"

The trigger was pulled, and the rifle bucked against her shoulder a bit, and blood exploded upwards, splattering on her, the ground, the merc, and screaming sounded in the air. CL chambered another round, and once again set the rifle against the man's head. He abruptly tried to stifle his screams, glaring up at her with the utmost contempt.

CL really didn't care at that moment what this man who had tried to kill her actually _felt_ for her.

She just cared that he, along with two of his buddies, had joined the ranks of the black armored men that had tried time and time again to murder her.

CL was just fucking tired of these people popping up out of nowhere to bother her with bullets.

That didn't stop her grinning though. No, in fact, her grin got a bit wider. It was fake, she knew it, this merc knew it, and Charon (who was most likely watching with his arms crossed as usual) probably knew it.

It most likely was the reason that the TALON merc was sweating so bad, under that caked dirt and blood on his face. CL blinked once, before pulling the rifle away from the man's head, snapping the safety on and slinging it across her back. He really couldn't do much now, with both legs busted and one arm nearly gone at the shoulder.

CL knelt next to the guy, finger tracing patterns in the blood soaked dirt, the strain on her cheeks lessening from the fake grin into more genuine one.

"Hey. What's your name?"

That surprised him. Brown eyes narrowed on her, and he huffed up slightly, gaze darting to the ghoul slightly behind her briefly. CL snapped her fingers in his face.

"Don't look at him. He's not talkin' to you. I am."

That got his attention again, and CL sighed a bit too dramatically for the situation,

"You know, I really do hate to, like, repeat myself. Of course, you already know what happens if I don't get an answer the second time, right?"

The hand that had been tracing the dirt slipped up to the strap that held her rifle.

"Randolph."

CL's hand stopped, before heading back down to the dirt, idly tracing again, and her eyes locked on his. He'd gotten the hint. Smart man.

"Randy, huh? Well, Randy, I'm really sorry about both your legs and your arm, I really am. But you see, like, you TALON mercs totally try and get the jump on me in the most random of places, and like, despite everything, I never get the reason why. One guy said I had a hit out on me, but when I took the contract from his body, it didn't have a picture. It even had like, the vaguest description _ever._ Ethnicity, eye color and gender."

She waved her free hand as she spoke, and nibbled her bottom lip slightly. Randolph continued to glare at her. CL paid no mind.

"So like, what I'm wondering is, how do you even know I am who you think I might be?"

"Your arm."

The answer was spat out quickly, and CL blinked in surprise.

"My arm?"

"The person who sent the hit on you said you're a vaultie brat. All vaultie brats have that computer thing on their arm."

Randolph gestured with his good hand to her Pip-Boy. CL blinked again, and looked down at it.

So. This was her marker. Getting rid of the blue and yellow jumpsuit wasn't enough, the simple fact her Pip-Boy marked her a vault dweller had solidified the target on her. Marked her. Made her stand against the people who had grown up living in the wastes even more than she already did.

CL felt a surge of something decidedly _unpleasant_ in her stomach, before her lips twisted in a grim smile.

"I see. That's good to know, Randy. Like, my total thanks."

CL straightened up then, and turned to walk away. Charon was staring at her oddly, even for him, and even Dogmeat wasn't panting good naturedly.

"Hey, what about me?"

Oh. CL blinked, before looking down at Randolph, tapping her lip.

"What? What about you?"

"You're just going to leave me here?"

She blinked again, and laughed.

"Oh. Hmm. Well, let's see."

CL turned back around and knelt by Randolph again, smiling at him sweetly.

"You did try and kill me, you know. I could kill you like I've killed other mercs, right, and I don't even think I would care. And out here, who's goin' to help you?"

She saw his eyes flick to the ghoul behind her, and CL wagged her finger in front of his nose.

"Nuh uh-uh, sir. Stop lookin' at him. He isn't gonna help you here."

Randolph's eyes were back onto her, and she reached out to twist a lock of his dirty blonde hair between her fingers.

"That's more like it, Randy. _Now._ As I was _saying_, you did try to kill me. _But_, you did answer my question, so like, you know what? I'm totally not going to kill you."

"You aren't?"

CL shook her head, and laughed.

"Nope. What I'm going to do is leave you here. Somebody will pass by eventually, and maybe you'll get help from them. But I'm so not gonna risk you stabbin' me in the back."

She stood, and moved over to his gun, and kicked it to the merc, just out of reach of his good arm, before skipping off to the metro station entrance, Charon still silent, but following and Dogmeat hot on her heels.

"Conserve your ammo, _Ran-dy!_"

* * *

><p>That had to be one of the cruelest actions Charon had ever seen his mistress perform.<p>

In fact, it had been the _only_ cruel action he'd seen her perform, and it was _deliberate_, which made it all the more confusing.

And she was limping. He didn't miss that.

"Mistress?"

"Yeah?"

She turned to him, and Charon took the pause in stride, checking over her with a firm hand clasped on her arm. Chen _did_ like to wriggle her way out of his inspections after scuffles in the wastes.

And of course, she whined. And pouted.

Not that it slowed him down at all. Charon continued on as normal, free hand gently probing her arms, ribs (He'd found out long ago her ribs were apparently ticklish when she'd accidentally elbowed him in the face, and made this inspection as brief as possible.) and legs. Down by her ankle, and Charon found her wincing, giving a brief glance back up at his mistress's face. Her response was to have her cheeks redden and shrug.

"I rolled my ankle. Hurts like a bitch, but everything's fine."

"Are you certain?"

She smiled at him, and Charon felt something odd amidst the normal burn he felt nowadays.

"Positive. Let's keep going, okay?"

She kept smiling, and Charon felt his grip on her arm loosen out of some unnameable compulsion. Of course, his mistress slipped out of his hold then, and waved her hand in front of his face, laughing, and turningaway to head further into the darkness, dog on her heels, as normal. It wasn't like she could go anywhere, even he could see that most of the station was caved in.

Charon watched her for a second, before the thought came to his mind that she wasn't just talking about her ankle, and disagreed thoroughly.

Everything was _not_ fine.

Charon had a lot to take in though, in a short amount of time.

TALON had a contract on his mistress. This was odd, but Charon could handle that. He'd simply have to be more alert.

His mistress was considered a 'vaultie', a term he'd heard a few times in his years around the country. Generally speaking the phrase had devolved from actually meaning a Vault Dweller to a person of extreme ignorance and naiveté. Which she _was_, to a point.

Somehow, though, Charon doubted that was the _only _reason.

It may have had to do with all the little inconsistencies between her and other Wastelanders.

Maybe it was, as the merc had pointed out, her arm computer. But that had to be impossible, no vaults still had people in them, as far as Charon knew. They were all derelict, save perhaps one in the Mojave, or was it the California Republic? He forgot.

Charon's head was starting to hurt again.

* * *

><p>CL was tired.<p>

Not just from the firefight, or from her act of sheer spite.

Though, being spiteful _was_ incredibly draining. She wasn't sure how people could be like that all the time.

CL was tired, because the day was not going well. From finding next to nothing in the store, to being swamped by TALON, to heading to the last clue on the Family's whereabouts and finding a collapsed Metro. It was official. Her day was _shit._

And she was tired of it.

Not that she'd let it show, of course! No, she was still grinning, and whined and pouted during Charon's inspection. It's what she always did and hell if he was going to know she was feeling less than stellar.

Lucky as she was, CL was tired of life figuratively kicking her in the ass for shits and giggles.

She stared at the pile of rubble in front of her, ignoring the door to her side, and set her hands on her hips, huffing. Three strikes out of three. What now?

She turned, patting Dogmeat on the head as she did so, and headed back up to Charon, who hadn't left where he'd been standing god knows how many minutes before.

Was she even in the right place?

CL stopped for a moment, before checking her Pip-Boy, switching to the map feature. Bright blue markers shone at her, and so did her current location. Nope, definitely the right place. Hazel eyes blinked a couple times, mouth twisting into a frown as she stared at the computer's screen, which was still a cheerful blue.

She didn't know was possessed her at the moment, but that unpleasant feeling was back, and her fingers moved, clicking tiny latches on the Pip-Boy, disengaging a couple sealer wires, and the item hissed, popping open enough for her to slip it off.

CL then threw the Pip-Boy against the wall with as much force as she could, hearing stone hit metal and whatever the screen was made of, and rushing to where it lay on the ground, not even scratched. Her eyes narrowed, and she picked up the computer, staring at it for a moment. The screen winked at her, blue outline of the Vault-Tec mascot giving her a thumbs up.

She lost it.

The Pip-Boy 3000 could take a nuke hit and still be in near perfect working condition. She remembered that bit of info from her tenth birthday.

That didn't stop her from slamming it into the floor like a woman possessed, screaming like a banshee.

CL wasn't sure if she actually wanted to break it.

She _was_ sure she wanted that stupid big headed boy _to stop smiling at her_, giving her a thumbs up like _everything was going to be just peachy_. It was too much. For today, for this year, for everything she was feeling.

It was just too much at the moment, and she was swept up in that unpleasant feeling that seemed to boil in her stomach and burn up her throat, throbbing behind her eyes which stung so badly that she had to close them for the minor relief it gave her.

Arms wrapped around her, one around her waist, the other above her chest, hauling her off the floor so suddenly that she let go of the Pip-Boy, and her eyes snapped open, feeling a flash of fear before realizing where she was, and _who_ was with her.

* * *

><p>Despite the headache, everything had returned to a semblance of normal.<p>

He was standing guard, his mistress was exploring in places she probably had no business being in for people who had no business asking things of her. It didn't matter, there was nothing to explore, and he watched for close to a half hour as she walked along the rubble barrier, looking for a way through, before apparently giving up, and heading back towards the entrance, where he stood.

Charon expected her to throw her arms up and scream to the ceiling that nothing was down here and how that old man wasted their time, rant and rave at the top of her voice even though Charon wasn't even a meter from her.

Instead, he watched her stop before reaching him, glance down at her arm, and start fiddling with the computer there.

Well, she did that sometimes. Double checking before she threw a child's hissy fit. After the hissy fit would come a declaration of resolve, and the day would continue on.

What Charon didn't expect was for her to take off the computer.

That action in itself was surprising. He knew this 'Pip-Boy' (as she kept referring to it) had to come off, as she wore it over her arm cover, and she never wore it at night whenever they did go to her official home in Megaton. He'd just never seen her actively remove it.

The next action made Charon flinch and take half a step forward.

The arm that could lob a grenade with frightening accuracy had just used up quite a bit of strength throwing the computer against the station wall. From the sound of it, hard enough to crack stone.

Well, he expected a _fit._ This was a bit different, but at least she wasn't deafening him. She still might though, because Charon had doubts that the computer survived the collision with the wall. Hell, his mistress was even going to check.

And Charon felt his pulse jump as she went absolutely _berserk _out of nowhere.

Screaming, smashing the 'Pip-Boy' into the floor repeatedly, a show of such extreme...Charon didn't even know what to call it.

His mistress was a whirlwind, a spitfire.

But this...Charon didn't even know what to do. He'd never seen her in such a _rage_ before, not even those months ago in that tunnel to the hospital, before he'd learned how stubborn and idealistic she could be. She was like a completely different person, and for a moment, he was floored for action. The dog was even inching away backwards, belly to the ground.

He had to act, and so he approached her, cautiously, trying to think of the best way to react in this situation. He got close enough to see that her hands were covered in blood, and threw caution to the wind.

It was his duty to protect his mistress, even from herself.

Charon half lunged for her, timing it so her arms were raised, locking his arms around her torso, and hauling her off her feet. She dropped the arm computer, and her screaming stopped, replaced by her trying to catch her breath.

Immediately Charon set her back to her feet, loosening his iron grip, but the sounds didn't stop, and he could feel her staring to shake.

"Mistress?"

CL had turned around his grip then, and buried her face into his chest, wrapping her own arms around him, fingers grasping his leather armor.

This was an extremely jarring change. Charon was once again at a loss of what to do, especially when the shaking got worse. Her fingers dug into his armor, and she pressed her face closer into his chest.

It dawned on him then that she was acting like a little girl grasping comfort. Burying her face into him to block out the world, gripping him like he was her only anchor. Charon cared about her. She was his favorite employer, his favorite _person._ But what she was looking for, he had no idea how to give. Comfort was foreign territory.

That didn't mean he didn't try. His arms once again tightened around her, firm until the shaking started to stop, and her bloodied hands slipped away from his body to fall at her sides.

Charon was unsure of how much time had passed between the actions. It didn't matter, not really. Not when the alternative was to watch her scream until her vocal cords burned themselves out and to act like a raider overdosing on Psycho.

It had been more of a contrast to her normality than her at her most terrified. And twice as unnerving to witness. He'd almost been _frightened._

She was speaking now, and Charon looked down at her. Her face was still pressed against his chest, so whatever she was saying was muffled.

"I can't hear you."

She looked up at him, and Charon noticed the reddening and how watery her eyes were. She looked absolutely _miserable_. His arms tightened around her with him noticing.

"I said that I'm stuck."

* * *

><p><em>"You're so weird, CL. Why did you pick blue?"<em>

_"Because I __**like**__ blue, A-ma-ta."_

_Amata rolled her eyes._

_"So mature."_

_"As opposed to the person who called me weird?"_

_Amata rolled her eyes again, and went back to flipping through a pre-War magazine they had been given by Mrs. Dithers. CL stood near the bathroom door, drying her hair._

_"What does the magazine say after the hair's been rinsed again, I totally forgot."_

_"Why blue though? Red would have looked nice, and that darker red would have been actually really pretty with your skin."_

_CL removed the towel from her head, blinking at her best friend from under damp strands of hair. Her bangs and the locks framing her face were now a bright electric blue, as opposed to the inky blackness her natural color was._

_"C'mon, Amata, we're not going through the 'Let's-Have-Similar-Colors' argument again. You picked that orangey-reddish-brown color so your dad wouldn't completely flip."_

_"First off, it's called __**rust**__. And won't your dad freak out too?"_

_CL shrugged, and moved to flop on the bed next to Amata, hair spilling over her shoulders as she reached for the brush._

_"Daddy doesn't care. He says I'm almost a grown lady, and can make my some of my own personal decisions."_

_Amata took the brush from her hand, closing the magazine, and motioned for CL to sit up, which she did. Amata started running the brush through damp black hair, and CL, as always, fidgeted._

_"But really, why blue? Everything you have is blue. Your sheets. Your pillow. Your Pip-Boy display. The icing on your birthday cake, and don't you have that mug t-..."_

_"Okay, Amata, I __**get it!**__"_

_CL threw her arms up and flapped them__ like she was trying to fly, before flopping backwards to land her still damp head in the other girls lap, clutching at her heart. Amata reacted by pushing her off the bed, and CL landed on the floor with an undignified yelp._

_"Okay, that hurt! Why must you wound me, woman? I give you my love, and here, I am scorned for my troubles!"_

_"That would be more convincing if you actually got off the floor instead of waving your arm around."_

_"Drat. Foiled again."_

_Amata leaned over the edge of the bed, brush dangling from her hand, peering down at CL._

_"So? You going to answer the question or not? I swear, I have a brush, and am not afraid to use it."_

_CL just smiled brightly up at the other girl, hazel eyes gleaming, the blue marking the border between ivory skin and ebony hair._

_"Because it's supposed to be the color of the sky."_


	9. Rad Regeneration

_**Author's Note:**_

I'm so sorry this chapter took as log as it did for as little as it is. I ended up 'taking a vacation'.

Meaning I went to a wedding against my will across the other side of the country, and had to type this chapter in tiny bursts when I could sneak away from the 'festivities'.

I really, really, really don't like weddings. There's far too many people all faking cheer.

Anyway, with that, I solemnly present you this chapter.

Please forgive me.

-icewolf

* * *

><p><em>"Passion and strife bow down the mind." - Virgil<em>

* * *

><p><em>A hand grabbed hers, pulled, and CL found herself tumbling back into the diner, landing on somebody<em>_._

_"Oomph__! Like, what the hell?"_

_"Sorry, Celly."_

_Only __**one**__ person called her 'Celly', and she__ sighed, before yanking her hand out of the boy's grip, whirling around to face him._

_"What do you want, Paul?"_

_Paul Hannon Jr. flinched slightly, rubbing his cheek where the ends of her hair had struck him._

_"You don't need to sound so hostile, Celly. Look,__ I'm real sorry about-..."_

_Her hands planted on her hips, and CL rolled her eyes, cutting the boy off._

_"I really, really don't want to hear it, Paul. Now is like, not the best time to try and apologize, anyway, you know? Can you bug off, please?"_

_She smil__ed, but there was no mirth in it. Much like a dog baring its__ teeth to a threat. Paul recognized__ it for what it was, considering the last time she'd smiled like that was back in eighth__ grade before her knee found itself into Butch's crotch._

_He was taking a v__ery big risk._

_"Look, Celly, I really didn't mean for what happened to happen. I really thought we could have a nice night, and that-..."_

_"That Butch and Wally could show up and dump my dessert on my head? That you could join them in laughing at how stupi__d I looked? Or that you could walk off with them and totally leave me sitting there a complete total mess and __**not look back?**__"_

_Her hands were clenched now, and CL bristled as she advanced on him._

_Paul, sensing impending danger to his groin, wisely retreate__d._

_"Look, Cell-..."_

_"Don't. Call. Me. That. You don't have that right anymore, __**Hannon.**__"_

_He flinched, and she stepped forward again. Paul once again stepped back, and found himself pressed against a wall._

_CL lifted a fist as if to punch him, but lowered he__r arm awkwardly, eyes narrowed and furious._

_"I'm through with you. I'm through thinkin' there was actually a nice guy down here in this shithole that had a spine to stand up for himself. You're a doormat. I'm not. Don't you ever talk to me again. I don't w__anna see your face ever again."_

_And she lifted her fist to her mouth, relaxing her hand and opening it as she blew, like her fist was full of confetti she wanted to scatter._

_She'd just blown him off. Dropped faster than a hot piece__ of toast on the cold __floor. Paul felt something tighten in his __chest as she turned and walked away, her inky pigtails the last thing he saw of her._

_His hurt expression was the last thing she remembered when she fell asleep._

_The next day, she woke up to Amata and alarms._

* * *

><p>"I can't believe I just agreed to help a drug dealer."<p>

CL smacked her forehead with her palm, wincing at both the impact and the shock it sent through her bandaged hands.

"I must have a problem, Charon, 'cause like, well, I'm starting to think I say yes to _everything_. I mean, a lot of these people need help, but I just said yes to help collect an ingredient for a ghoul that's cooking up his own jet because his fix ain't strong enough! What the hell, right?"

He didn't answer from where he was leaning against the wall, instead, CL could feel his eyes on her as she paced, and when she glanced at him, the ghoul lifted his shoulders it what could possibly be a shrug. Dogmeat was lying on his side, back pressed to the wall and feet stretched out far enough to have his paws twitch every couple minutes.

She got back to pacing, throwing her arms up in the air every couple of points, flopping them like a fish out of water.

"I know it! I must have one of those mind filters. I mean, the guy asks for help and totally asks me not to steal his secrets, so of course, I'm gonna be all sympathetic! And if I'm sympathetic, then I'm gonna help! And help _what?_ A _junkie!_ If this 'Ultra-Jet' will be able to affect _ghouls_, what happens when a _human_ gets a hold of it? I'd be an**** _**abomination**__!_"****

"You're overreacting, Chen."

She whirled to face him, her bandaged hand pointing at him accusingly.

"_I'm overreacting? _This from the man that _nearly shot one of my friends in Megaton because he pulled my hair?_ And I'm overreacting? _HA __**HA HA!**_"

That woke up the dog with a start, and he blinked at CL with reproachful eyes. She blinked, and rubbed the back of her neck, voice soft and apologetic.

"Sorry pup. Go back to sleep, okay?"

Dogmeat flopped back on his side with a heavy noise, as if he was as exasperated as Charon looked.

And Charon looking _exasperated?_

Okay, she _might_ have been overreacting.

CL sighed, and lifted her hands to study them.

Wrapped up in clean, but stained bandages, stinging every time she flexed her fingers. Her fingers felt stiff, though, and CL flexed them again, feeling a small throb and a slight burning pull on all her knuckles.

At least they stopped bleeding whenever she closed her hands, but she already knew that holding anything, from a gun to a grenade to the screwdriver and bobby pins or adjusting her Pip-Boy (which suffered absolutely _zero_ damage in the wake of her temper tantrum) would be painful, irritating, and as of right now, near impossible.

Which was why Charon had her hunting rifle slung over his shoulder, next to his assault rifle.

CL felt naked without it. Hell, she'd named the damn gun.

"Are your hands bothering you again?"

CL looked back up and focused her gaze on Charon, flashing him a crooked grin.

It was very weird how he'd been acting after her freak-out, to be honest. From awkwardly holding her when she needed it, to cleaning and bandaging her hands without a word after the fact, to not grumbling when she bled through the bandages as she slept and he needed to re-wrap them, and to the most unnerving thing.

He hadn't called her Mistress since the tantrum. Not once.

CL thought she'd be happy for the time he didn't use that term instead of her name. But it seemed so...unnatural. Coming from _him_, at least.

"No, they're fine, Charon."

* * *

><p>It was strange how easily she'd slipped back into her normal persona after the outburst of violence he'd seen. It took several hours and a night's rest, but here she was, acting like nothing had ever happened.<p>

Had he not bandaged her hands, Charon might have thought he hallucinated the entire thing. Her 'Pip-Boy' wasn't damaged in the slightest, so it wasn't like it bore proof of its attempted beating.

He actually had to hand it to whoever designed and built that arm computer. That was one sturdy piece of equipment.

Either way.

Rheumy eyes were focused on this girl in front of him, watching her as she paced back and forth in this tiny room behind this 'Murphy's' chem lab. Charon sensed that she had been played, the paranoid ghoul having sensed her willingness to help and exploited it.

That really didn't mean she had to go call herself an abomination. Charon may not have been able to know _exactly_ what she was thinking about the matter, despite whatever came out of her mouth

Thank God for small miracles. His headache was bad enough just _when_ he knew what she was going to do next after a situation; he_ didn't _need to know all the jumps and rationalities she came to in her brain _before _she did whatever she was going to do. It'd kill him. Or drive him feral.

Knowing her as he did, Charon was pretty sure it would be the latter. No rationality, but just because it was her.

A scowl deepened on his face. Not by much, but he was simply tired of her yelling and wincing at her hands. She couldn't act like nothing had happened, like she was just fine. No matter what she told him, Charon wasn't going to believe it. Not so soon.

So when she stated she was fine, he moved forward, taking her hands in his own as gently as he knew how.

Which really wasn't saying a lot. He wasn't a gentle person.

Either way, unwrapping the bandages on her hands, gaze passing over torn knuckles, raw, red and looking at the edge of bleeding, over bruises surrounding the small gashes, dark purple and blue and swollen slightly, bending each finger again to assure himself he hadn't missed any broken bones.

Charon ignored the wincing, ignored the fact she was trying to pull her hands from his examination, and he sighed internally, releasing her from his grip after bandaging up the wounds again.

"See, I told you, just fine."

"Your words soothe the deepest insecurities I hold."

A smirk threatened the corner of his mouth, because the look on his mistress's face was priceless at this moment. Her large hazel eyes were narrowed slightly, lips were pursed, and her head actually tilted to the side like an inquisitive dog.

"Did you just sarcasm me?"

"Sarcasm is not a verb."

"Whatever. Did you just _sarcasm?_"

"Sarcasm is not a verb."

Her hands had been thrown up in the air, and Charon felt himself ducking back to avoid being backhanded, that burning feeling in his chest growing at the all too common, almost comforting display of childish behavior.

_Now_ she was acting normal.

For her at least.

"_Whatever! _You still sarcasmed!_"_

"Sarcasmed is not a-..."

"Verb?"

"...-word."

"_AGGGHHHHH!_"

* * *

><p>"God damn."<p>

CL blinked at the open doorway of Murphy's 'Lab', a door near the back corner of the area. She'd just thought it was another storage room, something to explore while she was waiting for her hands to heal up a bit more.

She was wrong.

It was a separate room, yes, but the greenish glow, the three barrels next to a manhole, and an odd sudden onset of nausea in the pit of her stomach pretty much told her it was _not_ what she'd been expecting.

CL backed up quickly, dry retching into a nearby bucket, accidentally trodding on Dogmeat's paw as she did so. The heeler yelped loudly, jumped, accidentally knocked a broom over and the resulting clatter had Murphy yelling and Charon rounding the corner.

CL didn't care. She had _enough_ of radiation, thank you. It was bad enough that every bit of food or drink she had made the back of her throat tingle unpleasantly, or the slight headaches that would hit her later on, throbbing behind her eyes. Moira's 'experiment' had her passed out, burning with a fever afterwards, even with the Rad-Away, CL's stomach hadn't recovered for nearly two weeks.

She didn't know, but if CL had to figure, she'd bet that it was because her body had grown up so unused to the rads, it hit her harder than it would have if she'd grown up in the wastes.

She continued to retch though, feeling warm hands pull her hair (which was getting to a troublesome length, really) out of her face.

It took a few minutes, but the nausea passed, the pent up concentrated radiation that had swept out of the room dissipated somewhat. CL looked up, wiping her mouth with a bandaged hand, and grinned crookedly at the ghoul that was scowling as normal.

"Hi?"

A grumble was her reply, along with his hands gripping her arms and hauling her to her feet. CL laughed a little, a bit lightheaded, and mostly embarrassed.

"Chen, what the fuck?"

CL grinned again, pointing to the room.

"Look, a ghoul-sauna."

The moment the words left her mouth, CL regretted them. Her grin seemed fixed on her face, and Charon just..._scowled_.

And it was quiet.

And it was _uncomfortable._

Dogmeat whined and limped up to her, pressing his side into her leg. CL blinked, her grin absolutely painful, but...she didn't know what else to do.

Until Charon reached out with a fist and rapped her on the head solidly.

"Yah! OW! _What__ the fuck, pops?_"

"That was for the fucking shit that just slipped out of your mouth."

Her hands were pressed against her head, and CL looked up at the ghoul with one open eye, the other closed and watering.

"I know, it was bad. It was like, all I had."

If Charon had eyebrows, she would have been sure he raised one at her. As it was she pressed bandaged hands against her skull and ducked away again, as if anticipating another (rather painful) knock to the head.

"Are you feeling well?"

CL blinked. Wait, was he asking or stating a question in a way that made it sound like he was demanding a certain answer.

Considering she knew the ghoul to a degree, the answer was pretty much solidified as 'no', despite whatever came out of her mouth to make him feel otherwise.

The truth must have been written on her face, and still, she would always brush it off.

It wasn't his problem. If she wasn't tough enough to cut it in the Capital Wasteland, then CL felt she deserved whatever came to her.

Sorta.


	10. Hematophage

_It's late!_

__I know, and I'm sorry. I did not mean for it to take this long.

Writers Block coupled with Real Life tends to slow such things down, though.

Thank you if you continued to wait.

Thank my beta for reminding me every time we talk.

All my love.

-icewolf

* * *

><p><em>"We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey." - Kenji Miyazawa<em>

* * *

><p>She huffed.<p>

Huffed, and pouted at the man that said she couldn't go any further in this metro station.

Who the _fuck_ did he think he was? She deserved to go further. She didn't creep through an underground tunnel with a couple Mirelurks and disarm traps every twenty feet to be told that this area was off limits to everybody but the Family.

Fuck that shit. At least she knew she was in the right area.

CL sighed, clasping her hands together and leaning forward.

"Look, I really need to get by you, it's important I find what I'm looking for."

The man's eyes narrowed at her, before flicking behind her. CL resisted the urge to look back as well. Duh, Charon was there. The man's gaze was back to her in an instant though, and he seemed to be contemplating on an answer.

She just blinked owlishly, the corners of her lips quirking upwards.

"Alright...alright. I guess you _look_ harmless enough."

Success! CL smiled widely, and moved to step around the sandbag barricade, until the guard stopped her with a gesture.

"If I were _you_, I would speak to Vance before you poke around too much. You can usually find him on the mezzanine overlooking the common area."

Oh, that was probably a good idea. She blinked again, and nodded. Yeah, probably the best, considering this was their turf. Don't want to make things bad. Worse. Something along those lines.

In fact, that was probably the advice she would have gotten from Charon.

Another smile at the man, and she skirted around the barricade.

"Well, thanks. I um...have to go now."

His eyes narrowed at her, but he didn't stand in her way, gesturing to the gates behind him instead.

"Just remember I got my eyes on you. We all do."

Well that was creepy enough of a warning. But at least he let them through. That's all that mattered to her at the moment. _And _he didn't say anything about Charon. Probably thought he was a hired guard, considering the ghoul _still_ had her weapons.

Dogmeat barked once, slipping through the gates ahead of her, and CL blinked at the area, passing through it quickly. It was like somebody's room, and she didn't want to linger longer than she had to, after all.

It wasn't really polite.

On the other side though, hearing the dog bark again in the dark, and the crunching that followed, she paused, leaning against the Metro tunnel wall.

God, she was exhausted. All this for a stupid fucking letter for a whore she didn't even like.

And what the _fuck_ was a mezzanine?

* * *

><p>These people were insane.<p>

Charon crossed his arms and glared at a space above Vance's (That _was_ his name, wasn't it? Who gave a fuck?) head. The man had indeed been on the mezzanine, overlooking the entire metro station.

It grated his nerves though, on how polite and well versed the head of the Family was. It really shouldn't have, because it was a welcome reprieve from being shot at and shooting, and the man seemed genuinely peaceful, patient in speaking with Chen. It was probably _because_ it was such a sharp deviation from what was expected from people who lived like this, away from others stuck in a tunnel.

Not that his mistress seemed bothered in the slightest.

She seemed thoughtful, from what Charon could tell from her voice. Choosing her words carefully, as if she wasn't sure exactly how to think, or speak, in a situation like this, given on what information she knew.

Charon knew exactly how she felt, but unlike her, he had no intentions of trying to understand.

They drank blood. They considered themselves vampires.

They were batshit _**insane**_.

Hm. Was that a joke? Or a pun? Bats and vampires did have a history, right? There was a faint memory of an old book, maybe about vampires? But there were wolves, something about wolves and mist and gypsies and why was Charon thinking about crystal balls and something about a man covered in fur on a full moon-

A tap on his arm, and he tilted his head down at his mistress. Her eyes were bright in the gloom, her bandaged hand resting on his armor for a second longer than was needed, and her head tilted to the metro's hallway across the upper level, before she made her way towards it.

He'd missed the entire conversation, lost in piecing old memories together. Charon shook his head slightly, trying in vain to get rid of the up and coming headache, _almost_ missing the slight frown of the self-styled vampire as he passed.

However, the frown was _not_ missed, and Charon shot the man a scathing glare as he followed Chen, who was bouncing up and down in the hall, waving her hands like a loon, dog running around her legs.

Her smile was there and as he approached, it grew.

That was nothing new. The warmth in his chest wasn't new, even though lately it seemed like that burning feeling was spreading through his body.

No, what was new was the fact his mind seemed to wander lately. It _could_ be contributed to old age, really, since, as his mistress had so _eloquently_ put it, he was 'Great-Great-Grandpappy Old'.

Though, if it was just his age, wouldn't these things be a creeping sort of feeling? And if he was going senile, would he be aware that his mind was wandering? Maybe he was becoming feral? It wouldn't surprise him, really, but why now? And there hadn't been bouts of violent tendencies.

Well, no more than normal, really.

Charon's brow furrowed slightly, eyes locked on Chen's hair as she turned away from him, typing something in a wall terminal. A password, most likely. Vance seemed pretty forthcoming to his mistress. For some reason, like the jarring peace in this station, it irritated him.

"Charon?"

He blinked, and focused again. Her eyes were on him. Large, curious, bright eyes.

"What is it?"

"You mad?"

The question took him by surprise. If Charon had eyebrows, they would have risen. The question was tentative, as if she was unsure about asking in the first place. She hadn't looked away, but her smile was twitching slightly.

"What makes you think that?"

"You're glaring holes in the back of my head."

He frowned, and crossed his arms.

Mad? No, he wasn't mad. Irritated. Though, it was probably the same emotion in a lesser degree. Did that mean he was mad? No, no he wasn't. His head was starting to throb now, right behind the eyes. Really the worst of headaches, but that was it. ("Hey.") It really had to do with his musings lately. Working for Azrukhal, Charon used to have plenty of time to think, though maybe it was just ("_He-ey.") _thinking into the past. Is that what senile people did? Maybe too much stimulation after what could be considered atrophy of the mind was affecting-

"_**Cha-ron!**_"

Something was pinching his ruined cheeks, and Charon glanced down at his mistress, who was on the tips of her toes to stare up at him better. Her eyes were larger, and she looked...perplexed. His hands rose, and closed on hers, pulling them away from his face, glaring down at her.

"_What?"_

* * *

><p>CL huffed, rocking back on her heels, planting her hands on her hips.<p>

Something was not right. Never mind the willies she was getting down here, or the goosebumps that rose on her arms when talking to Vance.

No, something wasn't right, because Charon was acting weird.

And not even normal weird. Weird weird. Odd. Freaky. Strangerlike.

It...was almost like being in the Ninth Circle for the first time, again, and knowing he was standing behind her and ready to snap her neck without a moment's notice. Knowing he was behind her, alert, but without the warm feeling of being on _his_ side. Which should have been silly, because he _was_ on _her_ side.

Right?

But it was uneasy to feel his gaze in the back of her head, uneasy to know she'd tried to get his attention more than once and failed, and having him snap at her because he decided he was going to try out for the space program.

"Don't you snark and shout at me! Like, what's your issue, because you totally are giving me the heebie jeebies now."

"My issue?"

She stepped forward, poking a finger into his chest, despite the fact that he didn't move. Hell, his _armor_ didn't even move.

"Yes, your i-ss-ue."

"Do you have to elongate your words?"

CL stiffened, and peered up at him from under her bangs, her lips tugging into a frown, eyes narrowing. For some reason, she had a flashback of her dad at the breakfast table, chastising her about the elongation. It hurt more than she thought it would, that little flashback.

And it made her _furious_.

Not that the anger would help her now. Anger just made her want to scream and cry and throw things like she did two days ago. It made her want to stamp her feet, pull out her hair and shoot things.

None of that would help her. Not now. Not for _anything._

A blink, and CL refocused on the ghoul in front of her for a second, before turning away and opening the door that kept her from delivering her _fucking letter_.

This was all that blonde bitch's fault.

She was gonna _cut_ that woman when she got back to Megaton. And then slice off all her hair. Or maybe just slice off all the hair, and remove the door from her house. Or steal that girl's shoes. Maybe rearrange her fridge. Hide some clothes. Yank down her pants in public.

_Diabolical _shit.

* * *

><p>"Huh? What do you want?"<p>

Excuse him? CL blinked, before shaking her head once, the words _'You're a bitch to find'_ hanging on her tongue before she bit them back. She really should have hit him, but that might make her a hostile in these people's eyes, and then running out guns a blazing would be in the possible and probable future.

And for once, CL would like to have random people in the Wasteland that _didn't_ shoot her on sight.

Even if they were vampires.

Or something.

"I've been looking for you."

This Ian wasn't looking at her. Why wasn't he looking at her? She was talking to him. Her eyes narrowed, and CL clenched her fists, which stung in protest. What, was he so ashamed he couldn't look at a stranger?

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I'm pretty sure Evan King is pretty pissed right about now."

_No shit, Sherlock._

He only did run away and suck the blood from his family. Geez, he really was a squirmy bitch. His hands were so awkward. It made her want to look away, ignore the tightening in the back of her throat.

"I bet he has the entire town out looking for me. He's worse than my parents."

The parents that were dead and shit? Well, CL couldn't exactly judge, since you know, she'd only met their corpses, but hey, she'd take his word for it.

"I'm here to take you _home_, Ian."

"Home? I don't _have_ a home anymore. I made sure of that, didn't I?"

Hazel eyes blinked, before she stretched her sore fingers. This kid's words, they were hitting a _nerve_. It was rattling her cage, and she was getting irritated. Why couldn't she just...shoot him in the leg and drag him out?

Oh, right.

Vance said _Ian_ had to choose the path he took.

_Choice_. Daddy had always said it was a beautiful thing.

Large hazel eyes drifted back to the seated boy, and arms crossed over her chest, CL unconsciously mirroring Charon's favorite pose. It made her feel better. Just a bit.

"I know what you did. Vance told me everything."

"Then you must think I'm some kind of monster."

No. Just a _boy_. One that had lost_a lot._

"Look, Ian...I know loss too..."

Her throat was burning with those words.

"...I know it _hurts_..."

Why were her eyes stinging?

"...But staying _here_ isn't the answer."

Ian looked at her then, and CL found herself glancing at the dog pressed against her leg or a second. Her damn eyes stung so bad that she closed them for a second.

It struck her then she was trying to prevent herself from crying.

"There's something inside of me...something completely messed up!"

Large hazel eyes were retrained on Ian, and CL's eyebrows furrowed together.

"I'm a _mutant_. A _fucking freak._ The only person I was able to talk to was my sister Lucy, and she's gone."

Lucy? The vapid _bitch_? The blonde hadn't seemed like the ideal person to confide into, but then...CL had her own unlikely listeners.

A dark skinned face flashed in front of her vision for a second, and CL felt like gasping.

_Paul._

"No one gives a _shit_ about me except Vance and the Family. Can't you _understand_ that?"

_Yes I can. I can and you can't __**understand**__ how I understand._

Either way, the letter was dug out of her bag. A little crumpled, the envelope torn slightly and stained...with what, CL didn't know. Her gaze drifted to the side again, and her voice seemed heavy to her ears.

"Read this letter, Ian. Lucy wrote it...I bet it will change your mind..."

It was taken hesitantly from her, and CL found herself staring at Ian's shoes as he read it, glancing back over her shoulder once at Charon, only to look back at the absolutely _excited_ tone from Ian.

"She...she really misses being home...and she's asked about me in here alot!"

A smile spread on her face. That was nice. Maybe she judged Lucy a bit fast?

"I think I had it all wrong...I shouldn't have come here. I bet Lucy is feeling just as bad as me."

Well, CL wouldn't go _that_ far.

"Please...tell Vance I've made my decision. I'm going home to Arefu..."

The smile on her face widened, even as her stomach sank even more into the pit where she'd been feeling like she needed to crawl out of the past few days.

"...I hope to see you there as well."

Large hazel eyes blinked, and CL laughed, a hand coming up to her mouth. Well, that was nice, but _hell._

"I'm just gonna gather my stuff and say my goodbyes, then I'll head on back."

He got up to do just that, and CL turned, her hair flicking with the suddenness of her movement, to leave the room. The door closed behind her, and a sigh was released. Great, now she just had to talk to Vance (Who, despite being the creepy vampire guy,kinda reminded her of her dad.) again, and then she could get out of here.

CL really wanted to see the sun and sky again.

A lifetime of living underground did that to a person.

Hands clapped together, and she bounced on the soles of her feet, casting a glance at the ghoul always behind her, practically _buzzing _with excitement (And very willfully shoving of any gloomy feelings aside, for the time being.).

"That went well, didn't it~? I think it went well! C'mon!"

* * *

><p><em>"C'mon, CL!"<em>

_"Go away, Amata."_

_The knocking on the door didn't stop, and CL covered her face with her pillow to block out the noise._

_Daddy was home. Why didn't he stop Amata from beating down her door or something? She __**wasn't**__ coming out, unless she had to. There was just no way._

_The knocking stopped, and CL breathed a sigh of relief, for one misguided moment thinking that her best friend had decided to give up on her for once._

_Yes, completely misguided, because the door opened then, a stream of unnaturally bright light was across her floor and streaming onto her bed, right into her eyes, which shut tightly and once again had the pillow thrown over them._

_"CL! Stop acting like a Radroach and come on out! You've been stuck in your unit for __**days**__!"_

_Of course she was gonna be stuck in her unit. Her head hurt! Light made it worse, noise made it worse...CL just felt like __**shit**__, and while Dr. Morrison hadn't found anything actually __**wrong **__with his twelve year old daughter, the chronic headaches persisted. As did the hypersensitivity._

_And,__most recently, fatigue and lack of appetite._

_It was a battle to get her to wake up, to eat. She fell asleep at the table, wore a blanket over her head in the family area of the unit to block out light, and simply picked and poked at her food._

_It'd gotten so bad that he simply let CL stay in bed._

_But somewhere along the line, Amata had gotten fed up. Obviously._

_Hands grabbed the pillow and tugged it away from her face. CL gripped it like a lifeline, and tugged it back. However, Amata was a bit taller and heavier, and therefore, had the upper hand._

_CL never gave up her grip, but she was pulled to the floor, and the fabric of the pillowcase ripped. That sound tore through her, and CL went limp, the pillow slipping from her fingers, which Amata held in triumph over her head._

_Until she looked down, and saw CL for the first time in a week._

_Large hazel eyes were red and puffy, staring off into space, her skin was paler than normal, hair in disarray. Her lip was scabbed and raw, as if it had been chewed constantly, nose was red, cheeks were blotching red, and her face was stained with the tears that were still flowing from her face._

_She looked as if the entire world had been ripped out from under her feet._

_Amata blinked, the pillow falling from her hands as she kneeled down and wrapped her arms around the girl she considered her sister, squeezing._

_And Chen Lijuan simply sobbed until her eyes were dry._


	11. Interval Two

_**Author's Note:**_

I'm so very very sorry for my absence! Life is hard.

But I hope this makes up for it.

I love you all.

-icewolf

* * *

><p><strong>Interval Two:<br>**

_Of Sick Days and Nuka-Cola_

* * *

><p>He was not equipped for this.<p>

Give him raiders, Super Mutants. Give him _hostiles_ in the form of Radscorpions and Deathclaws, give him _anything_ but the task before him now.

And yet, he was still doing it.

_Willingly_.

Oh, how this girl had worked into the very core of his stony being.

Why _else_ would he be tromping to the bar near across the town, weathering the hard stares from the citizens without the large personality of his mistress to cushion their scorn.

Charon really didn't give half a fuck, and glared at them all equally.

He wasn't here for _them_.

He shouldn't have been here at _all._

* * *

><p>"<em>Chen."<em>

_. . ._

"_Chen."_

_A ruined hand knocked on the door, but there was no answer, so he walked in. There wasn't much to worry about, he had no intentions and she seemed to have no shame._

"_Chen."_

_. . ._

_Nothing, save a groan and the body rolling over, impossibly black hair stuck to a face that was a shade too pale, and large hazel eyes stared at him blankly._

_Charon's first thought was that she'd woken up._

_And then she leaned over and puked over the side of the bed._

* * *

><p>The bar smelled. It really did. Like piss and vomit and sex.<p>

The only good thing was that it wasn't too crowded at this time of the day, one or two patrons eating lunch, the whore heading upstairs, the ghoul bartender wiping out glasses. Charon grit his teeth, and strode forward, footsteps heavy, and his posture imposing, even without the shotgun that normally made itself home across his back.

He really didn't need it not when he was looming over the bar and the other ghoul nearly dropped a glass when he looked up.

"Wh-wha-Ch-Charon. What can I get you…fr-friend?"

Rheumy eyes narrowed, and Charon took great sadistic pleasure in watching Gob shrink away a bit.

"Squirrel stew. Nuka-Cola. To go."

Charon waited exactly thirty seconds before growling.

"_Now._"

Ahh, the simple pleasure of scaring another, and as Gob scrambled to the side area that served as a piss poor kitchen, Charon settled on the barstool, stiff and straight and arms crossed.

_Waiting_.

And may or may not be staring at the side of Gob's head just to see him squirm.

* * *

><p>"<em>Guh. You don't have to clean up my vomit, Charon. That's way gross."<em>

_He knew that, but that didn't stop him from doing so. Or rather, getting the robot to do so, while Charon carried her downstairs as the Mr. Handy went into 'Sanitation Mode'. The dog lifted it's head from the pre-War style carpet, and Charon laid her out on the couch._

"_I'm cleaning nothing, Chen."_

_Eyes closed as she hit the cushions, and she rolled on her stomach, groaning._

"_Radiation poisoning?"_

"_No. I think I just have a stomach thing…no more Molerat stew. I think the meat went bad." _

_Charon shifted uncomfortably, arms crossed. And waited. And waited. Normally, she'd tromp around, or sit home and read a book. These were his unofficial days off, as she liked to call them, where he didn't have to follow her._

_But did illness intervene in that?_

_Her hand waved at him, and the dog leapt on the couch to curl on her legs. _

"_Can you just get me some water? I'll be fine, go enjoy yourself."_

_She sounded like a miserable shadow of herself, but Charon frowned, picked the shotgun off of the old wooden table, and tucked it away in one of the lockers. Later, a bottle of purified water was set out, and the front door closed._

* * *

><p>"Here…here you are…friend."<p>

The covered and wrapped bowl tied in a bag, with an unopened bottle of Nuka-cola were set down in front of him.

Charon blinked, stared, stared hard.

Gob was slowly retreating as Charon got up, clearly not going to ask the large ghoul for caps. Everyone in the bar was afraid of Charon since he broke Jericho's nose without any effort, and no provocation. That, along with nearly snapping Moriarty's wrist when he reached for his mistress's rear end.

That the ghoul was a silent violent was well known and his hair trigger temper and trigger happy hand was another.

So when a bag of caps landed on the bar, and the door closed a moment later, it was enough to have Gob staring.

* * *

><p>The door slammed and the dog looked up from his curled position around the lump still on the couch.<p>

Charon frowned, but at least there was no more puke, and she was actually getting rest.

A shift, and her head turned as Charon set down the Nuka-Cola and stew down. Hazel eyes caught it, before up at him, and Charon looked up as the robot floated around the upper level.

"Dog."

A whimper, but the mutt understood, as Charon had his 'Don't Fuck With Me Now' voice, and got off the couch, off of Chen, and Charon moved to pick her up. At least she had been drinking, the bottle of water was half full.

"Charon?"

He was not equipped for this. And yet, here he was.

Up the stairs, and into her clean room, spotting the Pip-Boy on the desk. The mattress was clean, the floor was clean, and Charon settled his mistress on the bed, and grabbed the threadbare blanket to pull over her.

A hand stopped on his arm, and Charon stilled, turning ruined eyes to hers.

"I'm cold."

. . .

A grumble.

A thump of boots, armor on the desk.

A blanket tucked up around her, and the bed dipped as Charon settled on it awkwardly, an arm holding his mistress close.

She was far too small compared to him, and she curled up against his side as she was wont to do out in the Wastes.

Any second now, the dog would come and…yes, there it was. On the bed, trapping his own legs and against hers, and Charon grumbled again, closing his eyes in the peace.

He wasn't equipped for this.

He shouldn't be doing this.

And yet he wasn't willing to move.

Fuck it all.

Charon was comfortable.

But that Nuka-Cola downstairs was his.

She _was_ sick, after all.


	12. Here and Now

I apologize to my faithful who must be angry at me for not updating. So many things have happened, and I wish I had a better excuse.

Please, don't flay me.

All my love.

-icewolf

* * *

><p>"<em>Heaven wheels above you, displaying to you her eternal glories, and still your eyes are on the ground." - Dante Alighieri<em>

* * *

><p><em>"Daddy!"<em>

_Silence._

_"Daddy! Daddy, daddy!"_

_A door slid open, and Dr. James Morrison was interrupted from his work by his very happy, very loud, six year old daughter running into his office. A sigh, and then a chuckle as he caught sight of her._

_At six, she was still shorter than the rest of her friends, and probably would be. Her hair was short, but as dark as her mother__'__s, pulled back into twin braids, her hazel eyes almost too large for her face._

_However, every inch of her skin and jumpsuit was either covered in finger paint or blotches of glitter that rained on the floor as she ran over to him, her hands full with something that was folded up. A project from her class, no doubt._

_"Daddy, look what we made today!"_

_James wasted no time. Covered in paint and glitter or not, he swooped her up and settled her on his lap as she hastily opened up the folded paper she had been carrying. _

_A small burst of glitter emerged from the paper, landed on his shirt, but Chen was so enthusiastic that he couldn't care less._

_He did, however, care about the artwork. Painted blue (As expected. His daughter had a rather odd love of the color.), the glitter seemed to come from the objects in the blue expanse..._

_She'd made glittering stars in a blue sky._

_Granted, Chen was no artist, and it was the sloppy work of a child, but James saw it, and felt a sudden pang for the life outside. _

_Hard as it was, and how he never wanted his daughter to become subject to the harsh realities of the Wasteland, there were some things James wished he could give his daughter._

_Like the sight of a real tree._

_Like the touch of rain on her face._

_Like a view of a star lit night sky._

_"Daddy, you like it?"_

_Snapping back to attention, James blinked down at his daughter, who's smile was so wide he felt she might strain something._

_Did he like it? It was such a simple question from a simple girl._

_But a night sky brought up memories of Catherine._

_The little girl on his lap reminded him of Catherine, of what they'd wanted in life._

_Did he like it? Did he like giving up his work and life outside for the safety of his daughter? To have her live a sheltered, but somewhat healthy life?_

_It wasn't perfect. James knew that._

_He'd given up so much so that Chen didn't have to suffer a life that she would have been born into._

_Catherine had given up so much so that their daughter could have a life._

_Did he like it?_

_"Yes I do."_

_No he didn't. He didn't like the impossible choices he had to make._

_"I'll hang it up after you get cleaned up. You've made quite a mess, sweetheart."_

_No, he didn't like it._

_But Chen smiled at him so brightly, and James found that for now, her happiness made it easier to bear._

_"Okay daddy!"_

* * *

><p>This was such a <em>fucking<em> mess.

CL swore, and ducked behind a wall as a bullet splinted the rotted wood, running down the hall of the old school.

Needless to say, there was a raider on her tail.

But seriously, _what the fuck?_ Hadn't she cleared out this place like...what? Six weeks ago? How did people repopulate an empty building so fast?

What, seriously, was there like, an underground Raider Real Estate Network?

Another bullet shattered tile next to her, and CL figured that right now, she really didn't _care_.

Raiders were a constant annoyance on the Wasteland. Kind of like bloatflies, or those little tiny midges that liked to fly _right in front of her eyes_.

Only with guns.

And grenades.

And a fondness for gore on their walls and stuff.

And really, _really_ mean things to say.

CL slid behind another corner, before stumbling as she stopped her hell-is-on-my-heels run, fingers deftly sliding in ammo for her rifle. Footsteps closing in on her, loud amongst everything else that echoed in the din.

The barking, and snarling that echoed around the walls with no sense of where it was coming from. The shotgun blasts that she only heard because it was so loud.

Dogmeat and Charon were busy. CL had to work faster.

Being caught alone wasn't a good outcome.

Three bullets slid in, before another couple cracks sounded out behind her, having CL squeak in the most undignified manner, whirling around to fire blindly. Not really to hit anything, but more to by her time to duck for cover while the raider did that same.

Then again...she always _did_ have freaky good luck.

_Apparently_, that single shot had struck the raider's pistol. How, CL would probably _never_ know. But it did break the weapon, and she blinked in surprise a few times.

The raider was doing that same, his mouth slightly open in a manner that only struck her as 'Shocked Stupid'.

"What the fu-!"

Alas, his words were never finished, even if she knew what they were going to be. Why? Because a large furry body blindsided the man, snarling mingling with screams of pain.

Not yells. Screams.

He sounded like a little girl.

Dogmeat had found her, and was now busy using the raider's arm as a chew toy while he flailed, kicking and punching.

Not that the dog seemed to mind, jaws sunk into the arm, head whipping and lashing back and forth, ripping and tearing the raider's arm off. Slowly, but surely.

CL knew her pooch. Dogmeat could handle a simple little raider. She'd personally seen him take on a Super Mutant, and come out fine.

Not that it stopped her from raising the rifle (Ah, Annie Oakley was such a trustworthy gun!), take careful aim amongst all the flailing and screaming and snarling and the limbs flopping. Man, he couldn't hold sti-!

Something grabbed at her head, tangling in her hair, and _pulled_.

Stars lit up behind her eyes, and CL swore loudly, stumbling back, her aim going wild, pulling the trigger, a bullet cracking into a wall, and her side pounding from the gun's kick that was no longer supported with the action.

The ache, the pounding, the breathless feeling…

_Ugh._

The hand grasping her head pulled again, and the girl threw her elbow back automatically, catching a glancing blow off something almost solid, hearing a grunt behind her, coupled with the hand in her hair lessening.

CL struck backwards again, this time with the butt of her rifle. A bit higher, a bit harder, and a bit of a more solid connection to the raider that had snuck up on her.

A louder grunt, the hand gone, low cursing, coughing…all indications she made her mark, and that's when the girl swung around, gun dropping as she made to grab for the arm swinging a knife at her face, ducking back.

There was still screaming in the background, but she was a bit more concerned with what was right in front of her.

And that happened to be a _very_ violent and pissed off raider.

With that knife.

Which was headed for her face.

Her hand hit his wrist, but she didn't grab in time. It was enough to divert the stab, and her stumbling over her gun, tripping back a bit, had it missing her by a hair.

Literally. A lock of hair had been shorn off, and CL vowed in the back of her mind that she'd go to back to Underworld and get it cut short again, because this was _ridiculous_.

The raider was on her before she could recover from her stumble, and CL's hazel eyes were wide, trying to regain her footing to duck under the next wild slash, falling to her knees and crawling away a few feet before scrambling up and turning, raising an arm instinctively at the next stab.

Yeah. Not a smart move, because there was a line of fire along her arm, a searing pain in her shoulder, and a hand on her throat, gripping.

Sometimes, it _sucked_ to be smaller.

The raider grinned at her. Squeezed her throat while his man was still being ripped into pieces in the background, even as the snarling of Dogmeat should have made him stop. He squeezed, and she choked, and he dug his knife further into his shoulder, making her whimper with the air she couldn't get.

Fuck. _Fuck. __**Fuck.**_

Snarling some more, CL could hear it over the roaring in her ears, but then there was air. Air, and the ability to fall, because she'd been held up with her toes scraping the ground. She fell to her knees and hands, not very gracefully, because the knife was still in her shoulder and that arm gave out as she tried to support herself.

But she could _breathe_, and the tightness in her head receded enough to have her look up to what was happening. Had Dogmeat finally attacked him?

No.

Not Dogmeat.

CL blinked at the very familiar back of Charon.

Oh, but _of course_.

Warrior Gun God Charon always seemed to arrive in the nick of time. Kind of like her own personal knight from the fairy tale books Amata used to share with her.

(We're going to assume that mild oxygen deprivation is what supplied the mental image of Charon in a fairy tail-esque Prince Charming outfit.)

It was odd though.

Not that Charon had come to save her. No, that wasn't odd at all. Between his 'contract' (Which was just a piece of paper with some blurred writing on it. But it was laminated, that had to count for something.), and lately the way he'd been acting, (All scary and growly, even though he let her sleep leaning on him.), seeing Charon come to the rescue really wasn't an oddity, now. Hadn't been for a _while_.

But CL had never seen the ghoul actually…you know…

_Hit_ anyone.

Except for Jericho.

But that was _only_ because he couldn't shoot, and she told him to stop.

Here? With the full ability to splatter raider brains all over the wall along with shit and paint and blood and shit, he was opting to beat the fucker's face in.

Huh.

He must be out of shells.

So why wasn't he using his kni-oh, there it was. Sinking into the raider's neck and splitting it open.

Well, that was normal. Must really be out of shells.

A wet nose pressed against her cheek, and CL blinked, before turning her head to look at the red stained face of her dog, who whined at her. Rough tongue brushed her cheek, and CL laughed softly, before whimpering.

Now that she wasn't fighting for her life, that knife hurt.

Well, it hurt before, but now it _really_ hurt.

Heavy footsteps, and she looked up at Charon, whose gun was slung across his back, and knife in the sheath on his hip. Looking grumpy and unfettered as usual, like he hadn't just gone on a trigger happy blasting spree of bullety death.

CL smiled, even if it was a bit strained.

"Hi."

* * *

><p>Hi.<p>

_Hi._

Is that all she could say was—

Charon rolled his mental eyes, correcting himself. After all this time together, he should know better.

Of _course_ all she could, and _would_, do was say the one thing than made him wish he had simply torn something apart with his bare hands.

You know. Again.

Because shooting them into pieces wouldn't do.

And it wasn't like he could take his ever growing frustration out on his mistress. Too fond of her, and there wasn't denial anymore on that fact.

And what was he frustrated about?

_She was sitting right in front of him_.

Everything he had started to pick apart and put back together just _didn__'__t make sense_.

Nothing about her did. Not the way she acted, which was more akin to a hyperactive, bi-polar child than a young adult that should be traversing the Wastes. Too loud, too happy, to eager to head out, go forth, zigzag back and forth along the same paths to the same places, see the same people, and rush off again. It was like she couldn't sit still, couldn't rest. It made him dizzy and tired just watching her.

She'd kill herself at this pace, something he'd told her more than once.

But then again, since the Family, everything had to be re-analyzed.

Charon frowned, crouching before Chen, hands probing around the knife wound, ruined eyes watching her face for twinges of pain.

It had been a long time since the hospital. His mistress had gotten better at handling pain.

_That really pissed him off._

It shouldn't have. But it did. And he knew why.

Fuck being attached. Attached had been the line that was passed over a month ago.

What it was now, this infuriating, contradictory, whirlwind, little hellish _pixie _of a girl…

Charon needed to calm down.

_A lot._

Her eyes were locked on him, wide and hazel and refusing to look away even as he started to work the blade from her shoulder, the blood streaming down her arm.

It pissed him off that all she did was whimper, biting back the shouts of pain she would have given only a few months ago, and forced a smile to her face.

The knife was yanked out easily, and clattered to stained, broken tile, and red splattered on the ground from her arm, but the sigh of relief she gave was audible, and he didn't know whether to relax as she used a Stimpack, or to be angrier that she didn't seem to be taking this injury more seriously.

His fists clenched, and he stood abruptly, arms crossing over his chest.

And he _waited_.

There was too much to be said for right now, he was too angry.

_Soon._

* * *

><p>CL stared upwards.<p>

Well, there wasn't much else to stare at, since it was dark, they were in a protected outcropping, and she was half a blink away from sleep.

The stars weren't visible. It was a shame. She always enjoyed looking at them.

They made her forget, sometimes.

Forget the fact her body hurt. Forget the cold of the vault. The way artificial light had burned into her eyes. The clunk of the air systems. The sound of footsteps echoing through the vents. The sterile smell of the air.

CL reached.

Reached up to the clouds that were blocking her vision of the stars, the beautiful, stunning stars she had seen in her dreams all her life. Reaching to forget the life she had known. Her hand closed, but nothing happened. The clouds didn't move. Her memory was stuck on _then._

How long had she been out here? Her leave from the vault was August seventeenth.

That was something that was burned into her mind.

August seventeenth and her life went to hell.

It had been months since then. Her first month alone, trying to figure out how this world ran, the unspoken rules. The few weeks with Dogmeat, and then Charon. Months with both of them. A blink, and CL blearily looked at her Pip-Boy.

January.

When had it gotten to that point?

Hazel eyes blinked, blinked again, and blinked a third time, before both arms thudded to the ground, and she felt the dog on her legs shift, head resting on her thigh now.

It was the new year.

_2278._

_And what had she __**done?**_

Nothing. CL had…done _nothing_. Made friends, made enemies, traversed a small section, but truly, she'd gotten nowhere.

Dad was still out here.

_Somewhere._

Her head tilted, and the ghoul who's lap she was using as a pillow looked down at her when she poked his side.

"What, Chen?"

He sounded grumpy. But it was a softer grump than normal. He was probably wondering why she wasn't asleep yet.

"We're going to Rivet City after Underworld."

CL couldn't see his face very well in the dying firelight, but she could imagine the look he was giving her. Because honestly, she'd seen it more than a thousand times, felt it burn into the back of her skull. It was his _'I-Don't-Know-What-You're-Up-To-But-If-You're-Tell ing-Me-Then-It's-Not-Routine-And-Therefore-Has-Sur prises-And-You-Know-I-Hate-Surprises' _look.

Maybe she should call it something less exhausting to think.

"We'll set out early then. Get some sleep. I'll wake you."

A smile slid across her lips.

Good ole Charon. Her knight in sour armor.

"Thanks. Sweet dreams."

Hazel eyes closed at his grunt, that smile still on her face, and CL saw stars in her dreams.

* * *

><p>It was a cooler night.<p>

Which was why Charon was nowhere near anything resembling sleep. It was cooler, which meant that not only did the embers had to be stoked, but he had his legs and side subjected to falling asleep because of a certain girl and fifty pounds of dog using him as a pillow, at some point.

Right now it wasn't so bad…probably four or five hours to daybreak, he could afford an hour or two of sleep, and then rest again in the middle of the day when they stopped for lunch while she kept watch.

He _did_ trust her to keep watch in the daytime.

Not that he didn't trust her to keep watch at night, but he didn't trust her to keep watch at night. Knowing Chen, she would valiantly attempt to stay awake, and then fall asleep while denying she needed sleep, or she would stay up all night, and pass out during the day.

Charon had learned that already, months ago.

His arm rested over her shoulders where she was sleeping with most of her top half sprawled on his lap, the tail of the dog thumping on his ribs, and the ghoul didn't even bother to sigh at the mess of bodies piled on him. Just tried to make himself comfortable.

(He was, but Charon, being _Charon_, would never admit to being comfortable. After all, then it would ruin his image of being dissatisfied with _practically everything,_ current company excluded because he was no longer angry. He was plenty dissatisfied when he was angry with her, with her confusing nature.)

So, in these hours before he stole some sleep, before he woke up from said sleep while making it look like he hadn't slept, before she woke up and insisted he eat (Charon had gotten used to and actually enjoyed arguing with her on that point. Chen tended to get highly frustrated and if he was having a good day, he could get her to swear, pout, swear and sulk, in that order. It _never_ got old.), and before they would set off.

These hours were the ones he hated the most.

These hours had him thinking.

And it wasn't about anything somebody would normally think about. Yes, he checked in his head the state of their supplies, their weapon conditions, but she took care of most of that, so that left him with the '_Better Safe Than Sorry'_ line, and just checking it over.

No, these days, he was thinking about the past. His past, in particular.

Nothing big. It started out as trying to remember books he had read.

Food he had eaten.

Name of people, though that happened to mainly be former employers.

Places he had visited and could still remember buildings of.

Landmarks.

Further and further back, until, he was trying to remember if he had truly read a book called '_Ten Little Indians'_, but the name seemed wrong, even if the author was being recalled with a C in the last name, but definitely Agatha or Agnes as a first name. If he had really seen what remained of Mt. Rushmore, or if that was from, a ruined poster in Two Sun. No, not Two Sun. _Tucson_.

He _did_ remember meeting a ghoul who had been insistent on that front. Pre-War name of the place.

_Now what the fuck was that ghoul's name?_

Why was Charon even trying to remember? None of these things impacted him now…it was almost pointless to do so.

And at the same time, it wasn't pointless.

Chen had opened this particular bucket of worms.

Not really a surprise there, but she hadn't even realized she'd done it.

His hand was stroking her shoulder without the ghoul realizing, before his fingers caught a lock of her hair that had fallen into her face to pull it back behind her ear.

Eight weeks ago, the action would have made him question everything that went upside down in his very long life, and how it ended up here.

Now, it was automatic, leaving his mind free for other things.

Like wondering what color his hair had been, before it started to fall out with the radiation.

Or wondering what they were going to be doing in Rivet City.

No, actually, scratch that last one. That was one of Chen's declarations, and they always gave him headaches.

She'd tell him soon enough, probably when they were leaving Underworld.

She may be a stubborn, fucking irritating wisp of a hellion who's actions made him want to shake some sense of self preservation into her skull and see reasonable, coherent thought dawn behind those annoyingly earnest eyes instead of devious plans of a manic madwoman (Because she was a bit crazy, though only a danger to herself and any raider in her way, otherwise it was a sort of generous crazy.), but Chen was reliable with keeping him actively updated, even if he didn't ask.

Charon _did_ appreciate that.

He wouldn't say it, of course.

She'd hold it over his head for weeks.

No, it was time to think of other things.

Charon looked up at the stars, and tried to remember if he knew constellations.


End file.
